


A Pretty Boy with a Bird Tattoo

by Kryptaria, rayvanfox



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Aunt Vera, Barneslings, F/M, Fluff, Hard of Hearing, Holidays, Humor, M/M, Minor mention of blood, Multi, Piercings, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Punk Steve, Tattoos, Texting, bronchitis, nerd Bucky, punk Nat, tattoo Nat, tattoo Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-14 22:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 100,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2205132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryptaria/pseuds/Kryptaria, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayvanfox/pseuds/rayvanfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes is the wholesome, handsome boy next door, complete with the engineering major and the beloved younger sister (or three).</p><p>Steve Rogers is the punk artist loner with an unkindness on his arm and a never-ending fight against the world. His best friend, Natasha, is best left unmentioned, though there are rumors that if you kiss the Black Widow's spider, she'll give you a tattoo for free. But she never said where or what.</p><p>They shouldn't work together, until they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Talk about an epic! Seventeen chapters, over a hundred thousand words, and none of it would exist without the best betas in the world: Leavesdancing, Littlerosetrove, Scriptrixlatinae, Swimmingfrug, and Thesecretbeta. Plus, Scriptrixlatinae wrote the summary, so we didn't have to! <3
> 
> Very special thanks to Teaforlupin, who was our hearing impairment beta, making Steve that much more realistic.
> 
> And thanks to leguilemet, doubleohgodheavens, leanoutofthewindow-goldenhair, ismai, and bunsub for the Russian clarification. Myshka has now been changed to myshonok. :)

**Saturday, August 31, 2013**

Green everywhere. The campus was unrelentingly green, from the expansive lawns to the trees to the ivy-covered brick walls. The glossy brochures hadn’t quite prepared Steve for country living, and his pre-college anxiety amped up a notch.

“Okay, looks like we need...” Aunt Vera had a college map spread on the steering wheel of the ancient VW Microbus and was tracing the winding roads with one finger. When a car behind her honked, she switched hands so she could flip off the impatient driver.

Steve snickered under his breath. “A-P-A-T-O-W Hall,” he spelled out.

“AHH-puh-tow. Ahh-PA-tow. How the hell do you even pronounce that?” she asked as she stabbed at the map. “Aha. Here,” she said, tossing the map at Steve before she hit the gas a little too hard. The Microbus lurched, wheezed, and then finally rumbled ahead. Aunt Vera nearly took out a street sign and a pedestrian before she made the turn.

“You sure those are your new glasses?” Steve asked, shooting her a worried glance.

She waved a hand and the Microbus swerved again. “They’re fine,” she said, projecting her voice loudly enough for Steve to hear her over the rumble of the ancient engine.

“You know, I can stay home with you and commute,” he said, though it was an absolute lie. Three years of work after high school hadn’t given him any savings at all — not after helping Aunt Vera and Nat with rent and car repairs and all the other little expenses that had piled up. He’d squeaked into the state university system by about three-tenths of a point, and the only scholarship he’d managed was to the green-covered suburban hell that was SUNY-Huntington. His aunt’s home in Brooklyn was an hour or more away by car, and twice that long if he had to take the Long Island Railroad. And he doubted there were many busses from the nearest station up to campus.

“You,” Aunt Vera declared, “are going to —”

“To have a wonderful, life-changing experience,” Steve finished with her. “Yeah, yeah.”

Aunt Vera beamed at him, looking back at the last second. “Ex—” She slammed on the brakes, nearly throwing Steve into the dashboard. But they didn’t hit the car that was stopped ahead of them, so it didn’t count. “Exactly,” she continued. “I loved college. At least, the parts I can remember.”

Steve braced himself for reminiscing, but he’d take Aunt Vera’s meandering down Memory Lane over looking at the clean-cut, eager students carrying their neatly labeled moving boxes any day. “I’ll —”

“Just don’t drink too much. And no drugs. You know what pot will do to you if you get bronchitis,” she said. “Oh, and no LSD. Your drawings are weird enough as it is.”

“My drawings got me in here.”

She hit the gas again — stop signs were suggestions, not rules — and patted his knee, swerving again. “Your mother would be very proud of you, Steve.”

Hiding a sigh, Steve said, “Thanks, Aunt Vera.”

“So, um... Maybe you can try not to get kicked out for fighting?” she hinted.

This time, he didn’t hide his sigh. “I was suspended, not expelled.”

“Four times, honey. In your last year at high school.” She patted his leg again, then nearly took out an eye as she pointed right past him. “Look! Apatow Hall,” she said, and swung the Microbus in a curve that sent all of Steve’s worldly possessions careening across the cargo compartment in back. Not that there was much. Two boxes of clothes, a heavy shopping bag full of bedding, and a box of school supplies bought cheaper than the campus bookstore would probably provide. Steve’s real treasures were in the satchel at his feet.

“I won’t start any fights,” Steve promised. “Not without good reason.”

The Microbus squealed as Aunt Vera swung into a parking lot. She took the end parking spot, along with part of the curb. “Oh, honey,” she said as she engaged the parking brake, leaving the Microbus tilted. “Do you have to be the white knight?”

Steve shrugged, giving her a faint smile. “Somebody’s gotta.”

 

~~~

 

As Bucky turned into the parking lot right behind Apatow Hall, he glanced over at his littlest sister, Viola. “Stick your hand out the window and wave at Dad. He always forgets where to turn in.”

She’d had her bare feet on the dash of his Camry the whole ride in from Brooklyn, and her wiry little ten-year-old body scrunched down as she stuck her foot out and waggled it. “He’s watching. He was following real close.”

Bucky could barely see out his rearview mirror, he’d packed his car so full, but he believed Viola. She was a perceptive kid. “Do you think he was worried we’d speed off somewhere and leave him in the dust?”

She grinned widely at him as she scooted back up in her seat. “Maybe he thought we’d drive into the Bay.”

Her grin and imagination were both infectious. “I’d need to make a lot of modifications to this car before we could do that. We’d need it to float. Or be watertight.”

“Float! Then we could sail off to Europe. Or Iceland.”

Bucky parked as close to the hall doors as possible, hoping his dad could find a similar open spot. “You sure you wouldn’t wanna drive along the ocean floor, looking at sea creatures?”

“Ooh. But that’s so deep. The pressure would be a problem.”

Bucky had always said she was smart. “Well, that’s one of the modifications, obviously. Start making a list.” He handed her his phone with the notepad app open, and she started to type things in. “Don’t move for a minute. I’ll be right back.” He got out of the car and waved at his dad, who walked over from his loaded pickup. “I think I’m on the third floor, west. Gotta grab the info packet and my keys. We can take the loft pieces and workbench up the emergency stairwell over here.” He pointed to the end of the dorm hall.

“Go. We’ll start unloading. Why aren’t we using the elevator? I thought the building had adequate elevators? Or are they handicapped only?” his dad, George, asked a little fuzzily, looking at the exterior of the dorm. This was Bucky’s second year in Apatow Hall, after two years in Gardiner. Dad had been there only a couple of months ago to help Bucky pack and move out, but if it wasn’t a building _he_ designed, he usually wiped it from his memory.

“There's one, and it isn't big enough for the support beams. Besides, it's always packed on move-in day. This will be easier. And V will enjoy the ‘emergency’ part.” He patted his dad’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back. She’s thinking of how to mod the Camry into a submarine.”

Unfazed, their dad turned to peer in the open window at Viola and asked, “What about propulsion? What’ll you use for fuel?”

“Bucky’s gonna steal a nuclear reactor from Brookhaven if he gets that internship,” Viola declared. “Right?”

“Aah...” Bucky could feel his grin at his dad go sheepish. He might have gotten carried away telling V about his plans for school this year. “I’ll see what I can do. Gotta run.” And he did, around the corner and into the building to find the information desk.

 

~~~

 

Steve took one look at the first roommate to show up in the four-bed dorm — jock, probably a future frat pledge, most definitely trouble — and got the hell out without bothering to do more than shove his boxes under his bed. If they wanted to fuck with his two cartons of clothes, so be it. Everything he cared about was in the satchel that never left his side.

Aunt Vera said Steve had a preternatural ability to hide in plain sight. She wasn’t entirely wrong. He was great at scouting out the places where no one else would bother going. In this case, it was the emergency stairwell. Everyone was crowding the elevator, except way down on the second and third floor. Up on four, where the freshmen were crammed, the stairwell was deserted.

He couldn’t go any higher — roof access was somewhere else, probably through a restricted stairwell. He’d have to scout that out later. Rooftops gave the best views and the best privacy.

For now, he settled a half-flight down, on a broad concrete landing that had dust in the corners. The light wasn’t great, but it was good enough. He put down the satchel and rifled through to find his sketchpad and pencil box. A quick look around verified what he’d thought: no outlets. That was too bad. His phone’s battery was almost dead, but he definitely didn’t want to go back to his dorm room for the next few hours to let it charge.

Instead, he listened to the bangs and shouts echoing up from the lower floors and the thunder of running feet along the freshman dorm hallway. Twice, the upstairs door crashed open, but no one came down. In fact, if Steve could break a couple of lights in strategic places, the stairwell would be dark and uninviting, making it a perfect refuge for him.

But no, that was high school thinking. In college, a dark, spooky stairwell was probably the perfect spot for idiots to get laid.

 _Fuck_.

He slouched against the wall, wishing he’d brought a jacket so he could have something to sit on, and went back to sketching the curve of Aunt Vera’s eyebrow. He usually preferred to have a live model, or at least a photo, but he could picture every detail of Aunt Vera’s face. She’d been his almost-mom for eleven years now, since his mother had died.

By the time he had a rough outline, he started thinking about food. He put down the sketchbook and pencil so he could dig into the satchel. Aunt Vera had insisted on giving him a carton of granola bars that weren’t too horrible, and he’d refilled his water bottle at the drinking fountain on the first floor. That was also Aunt Vera’s idea — a stainless steel water bottle that came with a lecture on plastic, recycling, and oceanic pollution.

As he ate, he tried not to think about the next four years. They couldn’t be as bad as high school. At least, that was what Aunt Vera had kept telling him over the summer. Then again, unlike him, she was outgoing and friendly, if a little weird. Okay, _a lot_ weird. But she could make friends with anyone. Hell, this past summer, she’d made friends with a parking enforcement cop who’d tried to give her a ticket. Then she’d brought him home. To meet Steve.

“I know you and Nat have a good thing, but you should try all your options,” she’d said.

He’d never regretted coming out to her, until that moment.

When he finished his lunch, he put the empty water bottle aside and picked up his sketchpad. The corner hit the bottle and sent it clattering down the stairs. He huffed out a sigh and shoved the sketchpad into his satchel, then stuck his pencil behind his ear as he got up. He didn’t feel comfortable enough to leave his stuff unattended — not his drawing supplies, anyway.

Before he got to the stairs, he heard a young voice call something up from below. It sounded like, “Hello!” and then something else made indistinct by the echoes. Probably something about his water bottle. He slung the satchel across his chest and took the stairs down to the next landing, where a kid was standing by the door, holding his bottle.

The kid was small, somewhere in that indistinct age between eight and twelve, Steve guessed, wearing denim shorts, a too-large T-shirt, and a backwards baseball cap. Definitely not a student. And the kid — _maybe_ she? — grinned as they took him in, from his unlaced boots and ripped jeans to his Ramones tee and piercings and half-shaved head. Then bright blue eyes locked onto the line of birds tattooed down his right arm, from under his sleeve to his wrist.

“Oooh.” The child blinked, then looked at his face and smiled at him, holding out the water bottle. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Steve’s rings clinked on the metal bottle. He had no idea if he was supposed to say anything else — his experience with children was nonexistent — so he just gave a nod and headed back up the stairs.

He was halfway up to his temporary nest when he heard another voice, deep and masculine. The concrete stairwell drowned out the words beneath echoes, making it impossible for Steve to understand.

But the child’s loud answer carried to him, clear and bright. “No, there’s a pretty boy up there with a bird tattoo. He dropped his water bottle.”

In answer, the male voice laughed and spoke again. The rumble of indistinct words cut off as the door clicked shut. When Steve reached his nest, he sat back down and raised his pierced eyebrow. _Pretty?_ He’d never been _pretty_ in his life.

Kids. Aliens, more like.

 

~~~

 

“You’ll text me _every day_ to tell me what you learned?” Viola was leaning too far out the window of the pickup.

Bucky leaned in to hug her and then stayed close so she wouldn’t fall out. “Yeah. Well, no. I’ll email you the more interesting things a couple times a week. But you can text and email whenever you want. You know that.”

She was giving him her unimpressed look. The one she learned from Rebecca, but had made even more dry because she only raised one eyebrow. “Last year everything you said was boring. I don’t show it to Mom and Dad, you know.”

“Last year my classes were boring. What can I say?”

“Tell me about whatever. You didn’t mention a single girlfriend or boyfriend.”

Bucky lowered his voice, hoping she would do the same. “Look, slim pickings in the science building.”

She scoffed at him. “But _this_ year, the boys in your dorm are more interesting. I could tell.”

“V, the things you could tell...”

“I promise not to! I’m good at keeping secrets!” The volume with which she announced that did _not_ help her case.

“Shh. We’ll see if I have any this year.” Bucky pulled on her shoulder so he could kiss the top of her baseball cap. “Go on, sit down.” She stuck her tongue out at him as she pulled the top half of her body back in through the window.

Once she was seated, their dad leaned over from the driver’s seat, his hand outstretched. Bucky grabbed hold of it. “Thanks, Dad. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Take care, Buck. Call your mother by next weekend, or she’ll come to see you’re okay for herself,” he warned with a wry smile.

Bucky decided to call her as soon as possible because that threat was a viable one. He raised his eyebrows at his dad but refrained from actually rolling his eyes in front of Viola. “Will do. Safe home, yeah?” His dad nodded, but Bucky turned to his sister anyway. “You make sure he gets you home in one piece, and doesn’t drive into the Bay or anything.”

She grinned up at him and nodded. “I’ve got the GPS,” she said, holding up a smartphone that was newer than Bucky’s own. She’d earned it with record-high grades in the summer science classes she’d taken.

“Seat belt, champ,” he reminded, as he tapped the door of the pickup. She grimaced, but complied, and he couldn’t help but grin as he stepped away to wave them off.

There was always a moment of _oh shit, I’m on my own_ , when they pulled away, but Bucky was certain his senior year would be more challenging and productive, if not more interesting. He decided to hold onto V’s optimism on the second point for as long as he could.

He was more than halfway up the stairwell with his phone to his ear, waiting for his mom to pick up, when he remembered V’s pretty boy and wondered if he was still around. Then he felt stupid talking to his mother within earshot of someone else, and he would have hung up if Mom hadn’t answered at that moment.

“Bucky? Oh, no. What’s wrong? Did your father get lost?”

Bucky stopped on the landing, not wanting to walk onto his floor like this, willing to risk one person who might not even be a student overhearing instead of all the dumb assholes he had to live with all year calling him a mama’s boy. “Everything’s fine, Mom. All settled in. The loft fits beautifully, and V was a big help. But if they don’t show up in an hour and a half, start worrying.”

“Every time he goes out onto the island,” Winifred Barnes said with a sigh. “Hopefully he’ll listen to your sister. You’re settled in all right, then? Everything’s okay there?”

“Everything’s great. I’m gonna go organize my work table. Oh, and put my clothes in the closet.”

“If you need more money — Do you need more money? Did you eat yet? It’s after lunch. Ugh, that student cafeteria food. You’ll lose ten pounds by Christmas. You do every year. Go drive to town and get something good to eat, okay?”

Bucky would never tell her it wasn’t that the food was bad so much as he forgot to go eat it that made him lose weight at school. She’d always been good about bringing snacks to him every four hours when he was working on a project, and he’d just never gotten good at regulating that for himself. “I’m _fine,_ Mom. We stopped to eat on the way up. I’ll do a run to the store tomorrow.”

“Today,” she corrected. “You need a good breakfast tomorrow. Something more than toast and shitty coffee. I should’ve sent you some decent coffee. Or green tea. That’s a _thing_ now, isn’t it?”

He shrugged, then rolled his eyes at himself, since she couldn’t see him, for Christ’s sake. “I guess. I can find coffee. And breakfast. Honestly, Mom. I’ve been doing this for three years already.”

“I’m doing it again. You’re a grown man now. Say ‘goodbye, Fred’ and go... do something productive. Join a club.”

This time, the eyeroll was at her. He didn’t have time for clubs. Or, frankly, the patience. “Goodbye, Fred. I’ll call you again once classes have started.”

“Okay. Love you — Oh!” she interrupted herself. “Do you have enough condoms?”

Bucky’s mouth gaped open, even though by now he should have been used to something as ridiculous as this. “I — _no, Mom._ I will not discuss how many...” This was not a conversation he should be having in a stairwell. He sighed, resigned. “Yes, I have enough.” Even one would be too much the way things were. “I’m hanging up now. I love you.”

“Whoops. I can take a hint. Love you,” she said in a stage whisper before she hung up.

He shook his head as he pocketed his phone, listening intently for a moment, hoping for a hint as to whether anyone had overheard that madness. When it seemed the coast was clear, he opened the door to his floor and headed for his room. He really did need to figure out how to organize his workspace for optimal efficiency.

 

~~~

 

 _Overbearing mother_ , Steve thought as his chance eavesdropping ended, and the door closed with a bang that echoed through the stairwell. He hadn’t overheard much — mostly _“Mom”_ in an exasperated tone — but that was more than enough.

A tiny part of him was jealous, even though he had Aunt Vera. She was more than enough for him to handle, even with Nat’s help. Of course, Aunt Vera’s lectures were usually on the gruesome effects of STIs or warnings about getting Nat pregnant.

He’d finished his drawing of her and gone on to sketch the exterior of the dorm from memory. He was ninety percent certain he’d gotten the number of windows right, but he’d check later, once things quieted down. For now, he needed to figure out where to eat. His scholarship had included a basic meal plan, but that meant dealing with the herd mentality, and he didn’t think he could stomach that today. Maybe not ever.

But there were cafeterias scattered throughout campus. All he had to do was figure out which ones weren’t crowded — the ones with rude staff, bad air conditioning or heating, or just an inconvenient location. Until then, he wouldn’t die.

As he chewed the end of his pencil, debating adding little signs of life to the windows, his phone buzzed. He stuck the pencil in his teeth and fished the phone out of his satchel.

_Are you alive? :)_

He grinned and answered the text: _Debatable. How about you?_

_Could use your art skills, but I’ll get by, college boy. Got someone who wants a full back scene. Those Japanese fish-dragons._

Steve felt a pang of jealousy at that. He put the phone down so he could flip to a fresh page, already visualizing what he’d do with that sort of tattoo. Before he could get distracted by the work, he typed back: _Koi, Nat. They’re koi._

_They’re fish. Fish with fangs. Email me something brilliant and I’ll cut you in for 10%._

_15 and you’ve got it in full color,_ he answered.

Steve grinned and started packing everything away. For this, he’d need to do some research. Maybe Nat and her customers wouldn’t care about accuracy, but Steve wanted to know everything about Japanese art — at least, the parts about fish.

Fifteen percent of what Natasha made as a tattoo artist wasn’t a lot normally, but for something of this size — and for someone whose expenses were pretty much covered, at least during the semester — it could be a whole hell of a lot. Maybe enough to finally start that savings account. If he didn’t at least have a motorcycle by next semester, he might throw himself off the roof in despair.

 

~~~

 

There were advantages to being small, skinny, and easily underestimated. Even the nose stud, eyebrow piercing, and haircut came off as ‘aww, cute’ rather than intimidating. Most times, Steve would’ve given anything to be closer to six feet tall than five, he couldn’t put on weight to save his life, and he was probably going to get carded into his forties, but sometimes, it worked out to his advantage.

In this case, that ‘advantage’ came as an eighty percent discount on chewed-up, used textbooks that weren’t earmarked for a class this semester. He hadn’t expected the library to be closed, at least not until he realized nobody would be studying until Tuesday, when classes started. But the school bookstore had been open, and he’d batted his eyelashes at the older lady who was the store manager, and she’d found him the best deal possible on books he fully intended to return before the ten-day period expired.

But that meant he had nine more days with three textbooks on classical Japanese art, each of which had a few examples of, as Natasha called them, fish-dragons. Even better, nobody seemed inclined to go near the stairwell, so he set himself up on what he was thinking of as ‘his’ landing: water, the French fries he’d picked up at the convenience store on the way back from the bookstore, his colored pencils, and his books.

For two blissful hours, he filled page after page with rough sketches and color-studies, until he could almost feel the fish-dragons come to life under his fingertips. Natasha had finally gotten off her ass and texted him some details about her client, especially skin tone and hair color, and he’d actually phoned her to get into an argument over warm versus cool inks. Once she saw his point of view — which she always did, in the end — she agreed to talk the client into cool blues, greens, and teals. Purple and a tiny bit of yellow would give highlights, and he’d hint at some red, but that was it. Otherwise, the tattoo would come out looking like a bad sunburn.

Steve jumped when the quiet stairwell suddenly echoed with the sound of a door banging open beneath him. Before he could do anything in the way of hiding, a set of feet stomped up from the floor below, and a guy came into view moments later. He was taking the stairs two at a time, hauling himself up with the hand that clutched the railing. He stopped dead with his legs spanning multiple stairs —

And their eyes met, and Steve froze, because this guy was gorgeous. Maybe beyond gorgeous. Neat brown hair, expressive mouth, square jaw, and blue eyes that precisely matched the pencil stuck in Steve’s mouth. He wasn’t some kid, either. He looked about Steve’s age, maybe even a little older. He was in a blue plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up to show muscled forearms, buttons open over a gray T-shirt that was tight enough to define even more beautiful muscles. On autopilot, Steve glanced down — and the jeans, or what was under them, looked equally nice.

“Oh,” Mr. Out-of-Steve’s-League said when their eyes met again.

Everything about this guy screamed that he was the exact opposite of Steve. Nice, probably a jock, the type of guy that could get any girl he wanted with no more effort than a smile. And there Steve was, looking like a mad artist, hiding in a stairwell with French fries and tattered textbooks open to scenes of classical Japanese fish.

“You sketch in colored pencil.”

For one instant, Steve thought he recognized the voice from earlier — the conversation with the interfering mom. It was a nice voice, deeper than his own, with just a hint of a comfortable, familiar accent.

And then the words registered, and Steve took the pencil out of his mouth, belligerently answering, “Yeah. Not everyone’s got a tablet.”

The guy blinked, then smiled, eyebrows up. “No, I mean, that’s cool. You can’t get digital art to look as good, like the old masters.” He stepped forward as if he wanted to see what Steve was working on, then paused. “Sorry. I’ll just...” He gestured further up the stairwell, but didn’t move.

It was easy to push when someone pushed back. All Steve’s life, that was what people did, whether out of malice or stupidity or because that was human nature. Even Aunt Vera constantly challenged him, though at least she had good reason to do so. Hell, Nat fought back all the time — just like she’d done on the warm versus cool color issue.

Steve couldn’t remember the last time someone had actually seen his point of view from the beginning. The lack of pushback entirely disarmed him.

“Yeah,” he said, but this time it came out softer, almost puzzled. And then, because the guy was still looking at him, he felt like he needed to say something more. “They’re fish.”

As soon as the words were out, he cursed himself — silently, thankfully. What the hell kind of opening was that? _They’re fish_. And worse, they _weren’t_ fish, but no force on earth could compel him to clarify that they were fish- _dragons_. There were limits to even his stupidity.

“They look like koi, but I’ve never seen them that color. Do they come in blue, in real life?” The guy tilted his head to see the page right-side-up, but kept a respectful distance, his voice mild and curious.

Steve hated showing his art to _anyone_ before it was ready. No one — not Aunt Vera, not even Natasha — got to see his in-process sketches. Only his finished work. But he couldn’t exactly snatch the sketchbook to his chest and hiss like an irritated dragon, and the guy was actually _talking_ to him, not mocking or trying to provoke a fight.

Wondering if there was some new aspect of college life that he had yet to decipher, Steve finally turned the sketchbook about five degrees, which was all he could manage before he got anxious about it. “Color matching. For skin tone. Red would look like sunburn on a redhead with freckles,” he said a little incoherently.

The oddly polite guy narrowed his eyes in concentration, his mouth pulled far to one side, then looked up from the sketchbook to meet Steve’s eyes. “Skin... It’s a tattoo?”

Steve nodded, relaxing even more when he only saw interest. He had no idea why this guy was being _nice_ to him, but... Well, if nothing else, Aunt Vera would be happy if Steve could make it through Day One without getting into a fight. Besides, this guy could probably break Steve in half without even blinking.

“It’s part of one,” Steve explained, finding it safer to look down at his unfinished art. He resisted the urge to close the sketchbook. “It’s for a bigger piece. Full back.”

“Wow.” The guy moved a little closer. “Your back? No, wait. You said redhead.” He shook his head as if disappointed in himself. “I just thought, since you have that” — he gestured to Steve’s right arm, then looked back up at his face with a curious expression — “bird tattoo.”

“Unkindness,” Steve said — which was a ridiculous thing to say, but the guy was _right there_ now, almost in arm’s reach, and Steve should have been intimidated with this guy standing over him, but all he could think was that if the guy leaned over, he’d be able to touch.

“What?” The guy backed up, brows knit. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to... I’ll just...” He waved at the flight up, and started to walk away.

“Ravens!” Steve blurted out, putting the sketchbook down, then picking it back up. What was he thinking? That he’d get up and run after the guy? “A flock of ravens. It’s called an unkindness. They’re not crows. That’s a murder. Of crows.”

The guy’s face cleared and brightened, and a smile crept onto it as he listened to Steve. Not a mischievous or mean smile, though; Steve could tell there was no malice behind it. “Oh, yeah. Probably not a good idea to advertise murder on your arm.”

Steve thought about the geometric black widow on his ankle and shrugged. “Probably.” He took in what he could of the guy without being obvious about it. Ten bucks, he had zero tattoos or piercings — not even an earring.

“Well, it’s beautiful, either way, if that’s not weird to say. The line work is incredible and the pattern...” The guy frowned, then chuckled as if embarrassed. “Sorry. I’ll let you get back to your work.”

Steve glanced back down at the sketchpad, thinking ending this now, _before_ it turned ugly, would be a good idea. But Natasha would probably have his balls for letting this guy go without at least...

“You got a name?” he asked, meeting the guy’s eyes again.

The guy’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline. “Oh, God. I’m sorry. Yeah. Barnes. James Barnes. But my friends call me Bucky.” He held out his hand with a high-wattage smile that showed his perfect teeth. “I live on three.”

Again, Steve thought about getting up, but he was nested pretty thoroughly, with books against his feet and the sketchpad on his lap. Instead, he stuck the pencil behind his ear and took Bucky’s hand a little warily. He’d broken a couple of fingers before he’d learned how to throw a punch, and he never again wanted to be locked out of drawing for three months while he healed.

“Steve Rogers,” he answered, relaxing when Bucky didn’t try to crush his hand. He thought about mentioning that he was on four, but it wasn’t like he planned on living there more than necessary. Besides, obscurity was his friend, especially in an unknown environment like this.

“Nice to meet you, Steve.” Bucky — and what kind of name was that anyway? — seemed to genuinely mean that. “Well, I’m gonna head up to the roof before the sun sets, but if you need anything, I’m in the single just across from the door to these stairs.”

 _‘If you need anything?’_ What did _that_ mean? Was Bucky incompetently hitting on Steve? Maybe he was the student whatever — RA or something? — for his floor. That had to be it.

Then the rest of his words hit, and Steve asked, “The roof? How do you get up there?”

Bucky’s grin was a combination of pride and sheepishness. “I figured it out end of last year. Wanna see?”

Steve’s _yes_ died as soon as he realized just how much crap surrounded him. Moving meant standing, which meant showing Bucky that he was like a foot taller than Steve, and it meant picking stuff up, which would only end in _dropping_ everything, because the art textbooks were more like coffee table books. Besides, there was a chance — however slim — that if Bucky really could get up onto the roof, he’d get Steve up there, then close the door on him, leaving him locked up there.

Not that he thought Bucky would do that, but he hadn’t survived twelve years of public school in Brooklyn without a healthy dose of paranoia.

“I gotta finish this. Just tell me?” he said instead.

Bucky’s smile faded. “Oh. Right.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Um, it’s kinda hard to explain. And if you mess it up, someone is gonna notice.” He huffed a breath. “Sorry, not that I think you will, it’s just...”

Suspicion flared through Steve’s mind. “It’s cool,” he said dismissively, trying not to feel disappointed. Normally, he’d be relieved, even pleased that he’d avoided being tricked. But Bucky had seemed _nice_.

He looked at Steve, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “There’s a supply closet at the very top of the stairs. And there’s a trapdoor in the ceiling. The shelving next to it is built in, so it works as a ladder. The lock on the closet door is wonky. You can jimmy it if you’re careful, but if you make it much worse, they’ll re-key it, and then we’re sunk. I haven’t really told anyone else, because it’s so nice up there, and I guess I’m a bit selfish, but... yeah. Just be careful. Or come find me later, and I can show you.”

Steve blinked a couple of times. Bucky _was_ being nice. “I can —” he started, before realizing he was about to admit to knowing how to pick locks, which was a _terrible_ idea that would lead to all sorts of questions. Instead, he tried for a genuine smile and said, “I’ll be careful. Thanks. Or I’ll find you.” Which was out of order, but he wasn’t exactly thinking straight.

Bucky’s smile came back. “Great. Well, I’ll see you later.” He grabbed hold of the railing and launched himself up the stairs, giving Steve a view that was all too distracting.

“See ya,” Steve got out at the last moment, before Bucky disappeared one landing up. Overhead, Steve listened to the rattle of metal as Bucky worked the latch. A quiet _click_ told Steve that Bucky had probably made it through.

For one moment, he had the urge to chase after Bucky. Then his sense of self-preservation kicked in, and he slouched back against the wall. He’d promised his aunt that he’d try to stay out of trouble, and chasing after a gorgeous, probably-not-interested, possibly hostile stranger on Day One was _definitely_ the path to trouble.

Besides, he had Nat’s fish-dragons to draw. That would get him money, and money would eventually get him his motorcycle. Focus. He had it. Even if most of that focus was on the glimpse of Bucky’s ass that was seared into Steve’s mind.

 

~~~

 

Bucky leaned his back against a dormer and crossed his legs at his ankles to watch the sun set over the trees on campus. He had been planning to read a book while up on the roof, but now his mind was filled with the puzzle that was Steve Rogers. A slight little punk kid that sat around in random places, bristling with defensiveness and drawing the most gorgeous things. Gorgeous enough that people got them permanently inked into their skin. Bucky almost saw the appeal for the first time of letting your body be someone’s canvas. If it came out like Steve’s tattoo...

And V was right. Steve was definitely a pretty boy with a bird tattoo. His big blue eyes, and the eyelashes that went with them were particularly beautiful. Also, his deeper-than-expected voice, that resonated in the stairwell. But he had an ‘unkindness’ on his arm, and he’d never once smiled at Bucky, and he tried to look as tough as possible with his half-shaved head and his nose and eyebrow piercings. All of which shouldn’t have caught Bucky’s eye but somehow only increased Steve’s hotness quotient. That was going to make things difficult if they ever hung out — which Bucky seriously doubted — because there was no way Steve was queer. Which was probably a good thing, given Bucky’s complete ineptitude at dating.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t look. Or, he thought with a laugh, tell V about it.

He pulled out his phone and texted her: _Met your boy who drops water bottles. You were right, he’s really pretty. So is his tattoo. You know he draws them? He’s really good._

 _Are you getting a tattoo? I want a tattoo. I just can’t decide between the Pythagorean Theorem or i2=-1._ Before Bucky could respond, she sent another text: _Hey cool, Android has Pythagorean in its dictionary. :) :) :)_

Bucky shook his head. That kid. He had to admit the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, and he had sort of made sure of that from the very beginning, but sometimes she still surprised him.

_No. I’m not getting a tattoo. And you’ve still got 8 years to figure out which one. Just thought I’d tell you something not boring for once._

_7 yrs + 1 month, you mean. So tell GR he’s got 7 yrs to design some options for me._

GR. What the hell did GR stand for? General Rogers? Bucky hadn’t even told her his first name, let alone his last.

_GR?_

_Omg srsly? Dad’s gonna kill you. Golden ratio, dork._

Bucky actually slapped his forehead, then rested it in the palm of his hand as he laughed. The golden ratio. The standard for beauty in mathematics. Of course she gave him a nickname. She was a preteen. But now Bucky wouldn’t be able to forget it. As if shit didn’t have the potential to be awkward enough.

_You are perfect. And I love you. Nerd. xo_


	2. Chapter 2

**Saturday, September 7, 2013**

Bark scratched at Steve’s nape. He slouched forward as much as he could without ruining his casual-yet-confident posture. One week into the ordeal that was college, and he still didn’t feel like he fit in — not that he expected it to change. His classes were a droning hell of stuff he’d either learned years ago, in the case of basic art, or stuff he’d never use, in the case of all the ‘humanities, math, and sociology’ that he’d crammed into his schedule in an effort to get it out of the way. Maybe that had been a mistake. If he’d spread the hell over his entire time here, it might’ve been more tolerable.

Or maybe not. If he had Psych 101 level shit to look forward to _every semester_ , he might well quit and go back to working with Nat at the tattoo place. It wasn’t like he was going to miss out on a thriving college social life — not with him being three years older than every other freshman.

Thankfully, the roar of a classic Harley interrupted his bleak mood. He pushed away from the tree where he’d been lurking — hiding, actually — and went to the curb, helmet swinging from his left hand. The Harley slid right up to him and stopped, purring like a pleased-yet-still-dangerous lion.

The driver was in all black leather, from the boots and skintight pants to the zipper-covered jacket and gloves. One hand came up, sliding the visor out of the way to reveal a gorgeous face, with blood-red lipstick and silver piercings.

“Hey,” Natasha Romanoff said, lips curving up in a smile. She’d known Steve long enough that she could perfectly judge just how loud to speak for him to hear her clearly.

Steve got on behind her and gave her a tight, one-armed hug. “Missed you.”

“Of course you did.” She pressed his hand against her body and leaned into the hug. Then she let go and slapped his leg, asking, “Where are we going?”

“There’s shit around here,” he warned, though he didn’t put the helmet on. He had enough trouble hearing her over the engine’s roar. With the helmet’s padding pressed against his ears, he’d be useless. One day, they had plans to get helmets with intercoms, but neither of them could afford that sort of tech just yet.

She laughed. “We could go lounge around on the beach, but I’m not dressed for it.”

“Yeah, no.” Steve grinned. “There’s a hipster bar not too far from here.”

She twisted enough for him to see the glint of metal studs flashing as she raised an eyebrow. “A hipster bar?”

“Yep.” He leaned back so he could get his phone out of his pocket. He unlocked it, then passed it to her. “Directions.”

Like Steve, Nat had a photographic memory. All she had to do was look at the map, and it was locked in her head. That was one of the things that had brought them together years ago.

After a few seconds, she passed the phone back. “Helmet, babe. I can’t afford a ticket.”

“In those pants? You’d never get a ticket.”

“Straight female cop? Gay male cop?”

He flipped his helmet over and pulled out the straps so he could put it on. “That’s why you’ve got me.”

 

~~~

 

The suburban paradise around SUNY-Huntington wasn’t a typical college town, at least if TV was to be believed. Instead of a thriving nightlife of bars and parties, it was evenly split between tourist trap shops and quaint local dining. One street had _four_ dessert and ice cream places, including one that specialized in only cupcakes.

Steve and Nat fit in about as well as two penguins in Death Valley.

The bike crawled down the twenty-mile-per street as Nat passed their destination, looking for a spot. She finally found one, between a minivan and a Prius. She pulled off her helmet and dropped the kickstand to make it easy for Steve to dismount. He hopped down and got his helmet off in time to hear her say, “... about this?”

He could guess the rest of her question. “Either we go to the bar — uh, ale house — or we stuff ourselves into a sugar coma with cupcakes.”

She shook out her red and black hair, shaved on the left just like Steve’s, but long and ragged on the right. Tourists and locals gaped at the two of them — or, well, at _her_ as she swung her leather-clad leg over the bike and smiled at Steve. “Let’s not ruin your diet, babe. ‘Ale house’ it is,” she said, pronouncing the quotes.

Steve let her take his helmet so she could lock them both to the bike, even though this seemed the sort of place where they could just hang the helmets on the handlebars and nobody would touch them.

Once she had the bike secure, she threw her arm around his waist and pulled him into a tight hug. “Missed you,” she whispered in his good right ear as he hugged her back.

“Next weekend, I’m taking the train to come see you,” he told her, closing his eyes tightly. Nat was a piece of home, a fragment of his life that he needed. Badly.

She backed off enough to meet his eyes. “Is it that bad?”

He shook his head and let go of her. “Nah. It’s just not _good_.”

She pursed her lips, eyeing him in that way she had, as if she could read his mind. For all he knew, she could. She was sometimes scary-insightful. “It’s Saturday. Let’s relax and have fun. I’ve got a couple of design ideas I want to bounce off you, anyway,” she finally said as she unzipped her jacket, then slipped it off. Underneath, she wore a cropped black top with her black widow logo dead center. The blood red hourglass drew every eye — even his, and he’d helped to design the shirt. The logo mirrored the tattoo on Steve’s ankle and the one on the side of her neck.

“Careful, Nat,” he said as she slung the jacket over her shoulder. “You’re gonna cause an accident if you flash the road.”

“Oh, damn,” she said innocently, wrapping her arm around his waist again. She’d worn her lowest boots, he noted gratefully, so she tucked up nicely under his arm. Side-by-side, they almost looked like a matched couple. They were both short, though what was ‘scrawny’ for Steve was ‘petite and cute’ for Nat.

They didn’t fit into the bar any better than they did outside. Inside was about eighty percent hipsters, twenty percent tourists. The bar itself was full of brightly colored — and mismatched — craft beer taps, and the chalkboard sign behind it was full of puns and witticisms. There wasn’t a single pool table in sight, and the only dartboard looked like it was just for decoration. And by the door was an actual retro Pac Man arcade game. With people playing it.

“Did we crash and go to hell?” Nat asked, leaning close enough to Steve’s good ear that her lips brushed his skin. It was the only way he’d be able to hear her over the riot of shouting, laughing, and some sort of horribly bland music.

He nodded, wondering just how many of the hipsters were his fellow students. “Yep. Think so,” he agreed, though he deliberately headed for the bar, refusing to be intimidated out of this new torture.

Nat gave Steve another sharp-eyed glance. “Go get us a table,” she said, pressing a kiss to his earring. “I’ve got the first round.”

Leave it to Nat to give Steve an out, so he didn’t have to get into a ‘What did you say?’ shouting match with the bartender. He gave her shoulders a grateful squeeze, then disengaged so he could take over a lonely pub table with one high stool. He snagged a second stool from a duo of tourists who gawked at his piercings and didn’t say a word in protest. Then he sat down, wishing he had his sketchbook to occupy his hands.

Not one to be intimidated by anything, Natasha sauntered to the bar as if she owned the place and immediately got the bartender’s attention. Every guy within five feet also looked her way, and Steve sat up, hackles rising. He and Nat weren’t dating, precisely, and assholes seemed to think the way Nat dressed gave them a right to paw at her.

Right on cue, the asshole to her right leaned in and said something. Steve was at the wrong angle to read his lips, but he recognized the dismissive way Nat tossed her head.

Steve was off his stool in a flash, fists clenching. He pushed through the crowd just in time to see Nat deliberately step away from the bar, with Asshole following her. This time, Steve clearly saw the “baby” the guy said, which was enough to snap his already fraying temper. He’d played nice for an entire week. Aunt Vera would be proud.

“The lady said no,” Steve said, pushing between Nat and the asshole, who, Steve noted, was a good six feet tall. Wonderful.

“Actually, the lady said fuck off,” Nat announced loudly enough that even Steve heard her over the dull roar.

The asshole looked at Steve for a second, then back to Nat. “Honey, you _know_ I can give you a better time than this little boy.”

“You don’t have the fucking balls,” Steve snapped, beckoning the asshole even closer. “Come on. You think you can take me, asshole?” He gave a mad grin, fuelled by idiocy and adrenaline.

And though he couldn’t hear Nat over the roar of the crowd, he felt her sigh. She knew him too well to try and stop the train wreck to come.

 

~~~

 

Bucky actually hated the word ‘quaint’ and anything that would be associated with it, but that was the best descriptor he knew of the college town he lived in. He’d had to adjust his first year, but by now he was accustomed to the place feeling like the sidewalks rolled up for the night at eight p.m. Except on Saturday nights in summer, really. Then sometimes it was kinda fun to be in the midst of the small-town bustle made up of too many tourists, mostly because of the anonymity it allowed. He was long since done with being invited — almost dragged — to every kegger, ever. Mod one keg tap with a built-in pressure gauge and overpressure relief valve for fun, and you soon become a cottage industry, not to mention the best bud of every drunk fratboy you never wanted to know. No more of that this year, though. It ate too much into his time for his other, more interesting, projects.

He’d been in his room working on one of those all day — and the day before, and possibly the day before that, at least after classes — when V had texted him something about her soccer game, which had reminded him it was Saturday. And that her birthday was in less than a month. It was time for some recon.

He’d stopped into every sweet shop on the main drag to see which he should order her birthday cake from, and he had just come to the conclusion that the cupcake shop had the best decorations, which meant they would most likely not mess up the equation he wanted to put on her cake. It was something she could solve if she worked on it, and once she figured out the solution, she’d get the joke.

He’d just started back to his car along the sidewalk clogged with slow couples eating ice cream, when he heard a harsh voice raised in anger. He turned and saw some huge, bearded, drunk hipster step out of the bar across the street, followed by that pretty kid, Steve, and some gorgeous, redheaded punk goddess in black leather. They all marched purposefully to a narrow alley next to the bar. The hipster and Steve disappeared, while the punk goddess stopped at the mouth of the alley, leaning against the side of the building.

What was that all about? Either a quickie or a brawl, Bucky guessed initially. But given everyone looked like they were bristling with electricity, he knew the first option was just wishful thinking. Not to mention the fact that the woman was almost certainly Steve’s girlfriend. They looked perfect together — like a matched set.

Still. If Steve was gonna fight that guy, he was going to need more backup than his girlfriend, no matter how good she was with those boots. He crossed the street and approached the alley openly with a non-threatening smile on his face, so he wouldn’t startle the woman. “Ma’am?”

She looked over at him, fixing him with warm brown eyes that slid down and back up, sharp and intelligent. “Hey,” she said, twitching a pierced eyebrow upwards as she turned to face him.

Bucky was imagining the interest in her look, wasn’t he? That was just more wishful thinking, right? He stopped a few paces away, where it was still possible to look at all of her without moving his head away from her face. Her crop top was almost as distracting as the spider tattoo on her neck above it and the piercing in her belly button below it. Bucky breathed a sigh of relief that her intelligent and elegant face was as compelling as her skin-tight leather pants, if not more so. “Is everything all right?”

Her eyes dipped down to his belt, for some reason, then back up. “Fine,” she said calmly, though she couldn’t hide a flinch as there was an echoing crash from the alley.

“That doesn’t sound ‘fine’.” Bucky craned his neck to see down the alley without approaching her any closer. “Look, I live near Steve. Is he —” Bucky could just barely see the hipster giant land a right hook. Steve swayed with the force of it and staggered before he got his balance.

The woman didn’t even blink. “He’s —”

“Getting his ass kicked.” Without thinking, Bucky brushed past the woman and charged down the alley. “Hey! What’s going on here?”

“I’ve — I’ve got it,” Steve gasped out as he swung wildly at the hipster, who blocked with contemptuous ease.

“Hey, fuckface.” Bucky grabbed hold of the hipster’s shoulder and spun him around. “I’m talking to you.”

The guy was clearly drunk and out for blood. Steve looked ragged, but clear-headed, and Bucky only had a second to wonder if the fight was over the girlfriend before the bearded guy took a swing at him.

“Is that what you call talking?” Bucky demanded angrily. “That’s fine. We can have a little chat. Come on. Bring it.”

“You want a piece of this little fa—”

Bucky stopped him right there, silencing him with the well-aimed punch to the jaw that he’d perfected in his sisters’ defense back in high school. “See now, that’s just presumptuous. Twice over.” He punched the guy in the gut to double him over, then shoved him hard enough to drop him.

A low snarl was Bucky’s only warning as Steve, bleeding from his nose and a split lip, lunged past him. “Get up, asshole!” Steve shouted, spraying blood everywhere.

Bucky scrambled to keep Steve from pouncing on the guy while he was down. He threw his arm across Steve’s chest to hold him back. “Hey, it’s okay,” Bucky said. “Let’s just walk away.”

“He’s got a point. Fun’s over,” the punk goddess said, stepping up to Steve’s other side. Her touch on his arm made him stop struggling, and he sagged right against Bucky’s body, as if the strength had drained from him, along with his anger. She _had_ to be his girlfriend — an older girlfriend, too. She looked closer to Bucky’s age than Steve’s.

“Asshole,” Steve mumbled, turning to look at her. “You okay?” He lifted one hand to his bloody face.

She shrugged and gave a tug to turn Steve around, though she didn’t try to pull him away from Bucky. She just smiled and said, “I would’ve just broken his wrist. This was more...”

Dramatic? Painful? _‘Fun’_? Was this really what these two did for fun on a Saturday night? Or was this how he felt the need to prove he was worthy of her? _Shit._

“Involved,” Bucky finished. “Which I shouldn’t have been. Sorry, Steve.” Without letting go, he tried to assess if Steve could stand on his own. Probably not, he guessed.

“I had ’im,” Steve declared.

“You’re not a cop,” the punk goddess told Bucky, throwing him a quick smile.

“Nope.” Bucky looked at her curiously as he adjusted to hold Steve’s weight on his left side and held out his hand. Steve staggered, but Bucky kept him from falling — that and Steve’s own stubbornness, Bucky suspected. “I’m Bucky. We live in the same dorm. He showed me his drawings last week.”

He caught the way her eyes flared open as if in surprise at his last words. But her smile was controlled and calm, and she said, “Natasha. Call me Nat.”

“Blah Wi-oh,” Steve mumbled, lifting his bloody knuckles to touch his split lip.

Nat laughed. “He means Black Widow. Tattoo artist, not assassin.”

As they reached the sidewalk, Nat took firmer hold of Steve’s arm and tipped her head, baring her long, ivory neck. The spider tattoo was of a gorgeous black widow over her pulse point, with a thin line that stretched towards her shoulder and disappeared under her shirt.

The appeal of getting a tattoo just got even stronger. “Oh, so the koi were for you? Or maybe a client?”

Nat shot him another surprised look, this time not as well-hidden. “A client. He told you about the koi-dragons?”

“Yeah, that’s what he was drawing when we met.” He started to walk towards his car. “Here, this way.”

“We’re the other way,” Nat protested, gesturing back.

“’M _fine_ ,” Steve insisted.

“Shut up, punk,” Nat shot back at him.

Bucky was pretty sure that was a term of endearment. He stopped still before they tugged Steve in two. “You have a car to get him home?”

“A —” She stopped and gave Steve a fond, exasperated look. “Shit.”

“Nath,” Steve said, a hint of a whine creeping into his voice. He had his hand pressed to his nose to try and stem the bleeding. Bucky wished like hell he had a handkerchief or something.

“You’ll bleed all over your helmet, idiot.” Nat eyed Bucky as if contemplating mugging him for his car keys. “Which car’s yours? I’ll follow you.”

“The blue Camry. I’ll go slow. Don’t want to lose you.” Bucky smiled at her, hoping to ease her suspicion. She might have just stood there and let Steve take a beating, but she was clearly protective of him, and Bucky had no desire to be seen as a threat.

After a moment, she relented. They got Steve to the curb, where she pulled Steve close, whispering something in his ear, while Bucky unlocked the car and opened the passenger door. “Sorry if he bleeds on your seat,” she told Bucky as she gave Steve’s head a push to make him duck. It was exactly the same move a cop would’ve used in handling a prisoner.

Maybe she’d had that done to her? Or _maybe_ she was in a law enforcement family. _Come on, Barnes. Don’t stereotype._

“It’s fine. You’ll be okay getting back to campus?” Now he was sounding condescending. God, it was no wonder he didn’t hang out with people on the regular. He was awful at navigating social interactions. “I mean, you know your way? In case we get separated?” He really needed to shut the hell up before he sounded like he was trying to lose her. He closed his eyes for a second, worried that he had just fucked up and she hated him.

She didn’t quite smirk, though it was a close thing. “You can’t lose me,” she said. Then she grinned at Steve, ruffled his hair, and sauntered away, hips swaying.

“’M _really_ fine, Mucky,” Steve mumbled through his hand, denasal.

Bucky circled the car, sat down in the driver’s seat, and leaned over to look at Steve’s messy, puffy face, checking for signs of concussion. His speech wasn’t so slurred now, but it was a good idea to check for pupil dilation. And looking into those beautiful blue eyes was definitely _not_ a hardship. “Are your ears ringing?”

Steve let out a huff and muttered, “Wouldn’ ma’er if they were.”

Frowning, Bucky said, “Yeah, it would. That’s a bad sign. Are they or not?”

Steve turned away, glancing at his hand before he covered his nose again. “Can’ hear much anyway. Born tha’ way.”

Steve’s belligerent tone of voice made Bucky lean back and reassess. Especially when he took in what had been said. “Oh. Okay. How much? I mean, you don’t wear hearing aids...” He was sure he would have noticed that; he’d worked on assistive tech before — just like he noticed how, as soon as he started talking, Steve turned back towards him, as if to watch.

“Don’ need ’em,” Steve insisted. “’M _fine_.”

 _Right._ This was a sore subject, clearly. “Okay, good to know.” Bucky kept his tone of voice mild, but made a note to slow down and speak up. Hopefully he could do it in a way that was helpful without Steve taking offense. “Well, if your nose isn’t out of joint, I’ll be really surprised, and either way you’re gonna have at least one black eye. I should take you to the campus health clinic.”

Steve gave Bucky a kicked-puppy look, which shouldn’t have worked, but did. “No. Nath can fix it,” he said, making an effort to pronounce his words properly. He shifted his bloody hand and poked tentatively at his nose piercing, wincing.

Bucky knew firsthand that getting punched in the nose sucked, but he’d never had a piercing to add to the pain. “Jesus. Does it hurt?” He reached to put his hand on Steve’s shoulder, again wishing he had something to stanch the blood. Or some ice.

Steve’s derisive snort ended in a spray of blood and a rush of swearing as he cupped both hands over his face. Somewhere under there, Bucky heard a mumbled, “Sorry, sorry.”

“Oh man. It’s fine. Sorry. I should...” He looked in his rearview mirror and saw a black leather-clad motorcyclist pull up behind him and wave. “Great. There’s your girlfriend. The Black Widow. Nat.”

That got him a bloody laugh and a carefully pronounced answer: “Soun’s like a hitman, sayin’ it like that.”

Bucky was shifting into gear and checking for cars before pulling out into traffic. “Like what, ‘The Black Widow’? I guess. Kinda like ‘The Shadow’.” He glanced over at Steve with a grin, then made sure Nat pulled out right behind him.

“She’s fuckin’ awesome,” Steve agreed, and though his mouth was hidden behind his hand, his eyes crinkled with his smile.

Well, that was both adorable and painful. Surprisingly so, for both. Bucky had spent the last week hoping to see Steve again, but he’d never come by Bucky’s room, and every time he’d remembered to go back up to the roof, it was at dawn, not sunset, and Steve was never there. And Bucky didn’t really have an excuse to go up to the freshman floor. He guessed it was better to learn right off the bat that someone as pretty and interesting as Steve was taken, and if it had to be by anyone, at least it was someone who was also gorgeous and fascinating and seemed so perfect for him, like Nat.

“Was the fight over her?” Bucky felt it was a fair guess.

“Fuckin’ hipster,” Steve declared with another huff. “Like he’s her type? Asshole.”

Right. That was how people did things. They stuck to their type. Bucky was really bad at that when it came to who he was attracted to. Not that he really knew what type _he_ was, or anything, but yeah. Xenophilia. It got him into trouble. He checked his rearview to make sure she was still right behind them. “How long have you guys been a thing?”

Steve’s pierced eyebrow glinted from a passing streetlight when he gave Bucky a frown. “Huh? Oh. Nuh-uh.”

Bucky couldn’t decide if that was a number that Steve couldn’t pronounce with a bleeding nose or maybe ‘not long’, but he felt stupid asking for clarification. He shouldn’t care that much. “We’re almost home. Then we can put some ice on your nose. And your eye. I’ve got a mini-fridge in my room with a tiny freezer, but it fits a couple ice trays.”

“’S okay. You don’t hafta,” Steve said. “This kinda thing happens.”

 _Happens?_ Like, with some frequency? Bucky supposed if one were going out with Nat, it would be an issue that people would hit on her, but that Steve just seemed to shrug off getting beat to shit in a fight over her seemed kinda crazy. He was so slight, his odds of winning one seemed painfully small. Bucky guessed there was something kinda noble about that, but also, Napoleon Complex, much?

“She lets you get beat up on the regular? I dunno, man. She’s gorgeous and all, but she better be worth it. A nose is kinda an important organ. And what if you lost your eyesight? You couldn’t draw...” Bucky shook his head and told himself to shut the hell up. He had no right to talk like that to this kid he didn’t actually know. “Sorry. Don’t listen to me. I didn’t mean anything...”

“I can fight,” Steve declared, though there was a little catch in his voice. “Nat’s got like three black belts or somethin’. She taught me.”

Okay, now Bucky was just pissed at Nat for leaving Steve to get beat up when she could easily defend herself. And that was too bad, because otherwise she seemed really cool. He knew he shouldn’t be upset — there was probably a good reason, some dynamic at work he wasn’t aware of — but if he hadn’t intervened, would she have let that guy pound Steve into the ground? He kept his mouth shut until he could stop fuming over this thing he had no right to get angry about. It took until they were back on campus and pulling into the parking lot, with Nat right on their tail.

He turned to Steve with a small smile in place. “How do you feel? Not too woozy to climb the stairs? We can take the elevator...”

“’S fine, Buck. Really,” Steve insisted, wiping his bloody left hand on his jeans before unlatching his seatbelt. He turned and lowered his other hand; he looked like a half-starved vampire. “Most of the bleeding’s stopped...?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Bucky got out of the car and walked over to Nat. “He keeps saying he’s fine. Is he an idiot or too proud for his own good?”

Nat pulled off her helmet, shook out her hair, and gave Bucky a long-suffering smile. “He’s Steve Rogers,” she said, dismounting. She looked past Bucky just as he heard his car door swing shut. Nat muttered something under her breath — it was in another language, maybe Russian — and slipped past Bucky, going right for Steve.

“I’ll take that to mean both.” Bucky muttered under his breath as he turned around. At least she seemed to care about how hurt he was, even if she was the one who’d let him get that way.

 

~~~

 

Of all the damned _stupid_ fucking coincidences... The one hot guy Steve most wanted to avoid — because why set himself up for disappointment? — _had_ to be the one who came to his rescue, like he was some sort of fucking damsel in distress. At least Nat was used to his playing the white knight and didn’t comment anymore. Bucky, though... Now it was just a matter of time before the whole dorm heard, and there went Steve’s already-nonexistent on-campus sex life.

The only mercy was that the dorm was three-quarters empty. The lobby was deserted, except for a bored security guard over by the elevators. Steve dug in his heels when Bucky tried to turn that way. The stairs were a safer bet. Less chance of anyone seeing them or asking questions. Students were inherently lazy. Most days, Steve practically had the whole stairwell to himself.

Bucky stopped at the third floor landing, by which time Steve was pretty sure most of the bleeding had stopped. “My room’s right here,” Bucky said.

Steve shook his head and tried to keep going up to his floor. He needed to wash off and maybe puke, because he’d swallowed way too much blood — it was that or bleed all over Bucky’s car even worse than he had. As clearly as possible, Steve said, “It’s cool. Thanks.”

“Steve, please. I’ve got a couch that’s ugly as sin, and you can bleed all over it. And you need to ice your whole face.”

“He’s right,” Nat added.

Steve frowned at her, wondering what the hell was up. Bucky’s car had been more convenient than Steve bleeding inside his helmet or maybe passing out and falling off the back of her Harley, but normally she’d be trying to ditch him right about now. Bucky was the walking embodiment of strait-laced danger for people like them.

“Besides, no roommates to get nosy.” Bucky squinted his eyes like the light hurt, but he seemed serious about his invitation.

“They out for the night?” Nat asked.

Remembering that Bucky had said he had a single, Steve opened his mouth to explain, but the pain was really settling into his lip. He winced and touched the scab that was forming. “Good thing it’s not pierced,” he muttered. Nat had tried to talk him into being her guinea pig for lip piercings, but that was a little too creepy, even for him. He had enough trouble remembering to eat without pain as a motive to skip meals.

Bucky looked at Steve and murmured, “Don’t touch it,” before he smiled at Nat and answered. “Don’t have any. I’m a senior. I’ve got a single.” He tugged Steve toward the door and won by sheer strength.

The third-floor hallway was almost identical to the one on four, just with more rooms. Even older freshmen didn’t have a shot in hell at getting a single room. Steve had tried. Desperately.

Bucky unlocked and pushed open the door to organized chaos. There were books in neat stacks on the floor and couch. The worktable by the window was covered in parts for at least three different projects, and there was a loft with an unmade bed against the right wall. But there were no containers of half-eaten food crusting over or empty beer cans, and all the clothes must have been put away in the closet. It felt positively pristine, compared with the squalid way Steve’s roommates chose to live.

“God, sorry. Gimme a sec...” Bucky rushed to move all the books off the couch and out of their path to it, then gestured for them to sit as he ducked his head into his closet. “There, make yourselves at home. Lemme find...”

Steve let Nat help him over to the couch, once it was clear. The cushions weren’t too bad, and the couch was nice and low to the floor, as if the legs had been left off. Nat rearranged Steve, head tipped back, then reached up to turn on a light clamped to the underside of the bed.

“Ow,” Steve complained, squinting his eyes.

“Wuss,” Nat accused, gently touching his lip with one finger. “Sure you don’t want that piercing?”

Steve almost grinned, but it hurt. “Fuck off.”

Bucky reappeared with a hand towel, wet it from a water bottle he’d grabbed from the fridge, but then paused when he approached them and handed it over to Nat. She took the towel and dabbed at Steve’s face with a gentle touch that still surprised him, even after all the years they’d known each other.

“How about you?” she asked, turning to Bucky. “Want anything pierced?”

 _“Nat!”_ Steve choked out, wondering if she was trying to get him thrown out.

Bucky looked back and forth between them, a bemused expression on his face. “Never thought about it. And it’s probably not a good idea, given the electronics I tend to be around...”

“Tongue piercing?” Nat suggested. “Unless you make a habit of licking —”

Steve groaned, “Nat,” again, not that he expected it would help. She was as tenacious as a crocodile eating an antelope.

Bucky squinted and pulled his mouth to one side, and Steve was worried for a moment that Nat had pushed too far. “I never understood that. Why do people get tongue piercings?”

“Oh, fuck,” Steve got out before Nat silenced him with the wet hand towel.

“Style,” she said innocently. “And oral sex.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide, and he seemed to freeze, as if his brain were having trouble processing. Steve imagined him as a computer that was stuck buffering forever. Bucky finally blinked a couple times and said, “Ice.” When he turned away, Steve could see his neck was flushed pink.

 _“Nat!”_ Steve whispered under his breath, glaring at her.

She smiled sweetly. It was the expression she used when she saw kittens — and right before she’d punched that one biker right in the balls, the last time they’d gotten into a barfight together. “Hey, favor for favor. A trade of expert skills. His first aid for my art.”

Steve lifted his head to look at the workbench. It was covered with electronics. “I don’t think he’s pre-med.”

“ _Fundamentals of Cognitive Neuroscience_. Old, dog-eared, not covered with school bookstore ‘used’ stamps. Unless it’s just a hobby. Hey, Bucky,” she said ominously, leaning forward to watch him fussing with the ice trays in his mini-fridge. “Got any fun hobbies?”

Bucky glanced over with a small frown. “Um, ‘fun’ is a relative term...” He held his hand out with a grabby motion. “Give the towel here for a sec.” When she handed it over, he laid it out flat over his knees and piled a whole tray of ice onto the middle of it, then folded it over and handed it back.

Nat put it right to Steve’s face, muffling his, “Ow!” The damned thing was cold and rough, and she obviously didn’t care that he had bruises along with the cuts. And his nose _really_ hurt. The damned piercing had nearly become a two-parter when a punch drove the stud against his septum, which was something he rather liked having intact.

Instead of taking the ice away, Nat patted his knee, which did nothing to help. “Shush. You were saying?”

Bucky gestured to his worktable, but his eyes were on Steve, his face worried. “I mostly just work on my projects, I guess.”

“That explains the ‘science’ bit. Does the ‘neuro’ part mean you’ve got a stash of body parts in that fridge, or are they in formaldehyde jars in the bottom of your closet?”

Steve groaned. Any second now, Bucky would find an excuse to leave, and then the security guards would throw them _both_ out for being creepy.

A grin tugged on Bucky’s lips, and his eyes sparkled. “No, it means at some point I’ll be hooking living brains up to computers. But not for a while. Still in the computer modeling stages.”

“What kind of computer?” Nat asked, and her tone made Steve breathe a sigh of relief, even though she still wouldn’t take away the ice. Computers were Nat’s weakness, and the laptop on the workbench looked newer and better than anything she’d had her hands on.

“Well, the tech is still in the early stages of development...” Bucky pressed his lips together for a second and when they came apart, they were bright red. “But if you’re interested I can show you the specs sometime.”

“I’d like that,” she answered, eyes bright with genuine interest. A twinge of jealousy hit Steve, and he had no idea if it was because of losing Nat’s focus or Bucky’s. Maybe both.

 _I’ll just bleed to death on the couch,_ he thought, letting his head fall back. The light was still glaring down at him, so he closed his eyes. The sooner the bleeding stopped, the sooner he could escape. Bucky had a single room, so it’d be easy for him to ask Nat to stick around. There was nothing else to keep her on campus, unless she wanted to hang out with Steve in the stairwell or up on the roof.

Right on cue, she said, “I think that we’re about done for the night, Steve.”

“I’ll just go throw up,” Steve said, though his words were mostly lost to the ice that was half-suffocating him. He blinked his eyes open and tried to sit up, but she pushed harder, making him flinch at the pain and stop fighting.

“Think you can keep him from bleeding out, Doc?” she continued.

Bucky blinked at her for a second. “Yeah. He can —” He looked from Nat to Steve. “You can stay here as long as you like. In fact, you probably shouldn’t move for a little while, yet.”

Steve tried to shake his head, feeling a spike of panic at the thought of Nat leaving him here. With Bucky. “No, really —”

“Here, hold this,” Nat said, pulling Bucky’s hand to take her place, holding the ice against Steve’s nose and mouth. She slunk to the side, and Bucky sat down where she’d been — a solidly warm, far more muscular presence. She braced a hand on the overhead support and leaned in to look into Steve’s eyes. “Thanks, babe. I had fun.”

“Nat,” Steve complained.

She smirked wickedly and used one finger to lift an edge of the washcloth, revealing his bottom lip. “Looks like it’s not bleeding anymore, but let’s not take chances. Gotta do this by proxy. Right, Doc?”

Bucky blinked at her. “Sure? I can —”

Nat moved in while Bucky was still talking, and she silenced him with one hand in his neat brown hair and her lips on his. He cut off with a gasp that was lost under her open-mouthed kiss — that searing, toe-curling kiss that Steve remembered all too well, because it was one of his absolute favorite things that she did.

The pressure on Steve’s face let up, so much so that the now soggy towel dropped into his lap, as Bucky’s hands went to Nat’s shoulders. They didn’t clutch; in fact, they looked like they were going to push her away more than pull her in, but in the end they just rested there.

Steve couldn’t help but watch Bucky respond to the kiss. Hell, Nat’s kisses could wake the dead. His face flushed and his breath hitched and he didn’t quite match her fervor, but he was definitely an active participant. The moment there was a chance to breathe, though, he took it, pulling back until his arms were straight and locking his elbows to keep the distance. He looked kinda bewildered as he caught his breath and licked his lips.

“Nice meeting you, Doc,” Natasha said, giving Bucky a soft, sweet smile — so unlike her usual cat-that-ate-the-canary grin. She took one of Steve’s bloody hands and touched her lips to his fingertips. “See you soon, babe.”

 _“Do svidaniya,”_ Steve said thoughtlessly, missing her already. He picked up the wet towel, dropping a couple of ice cubes on his lap.

She straightened up to head for the door, and Bucky belatedly caught up with the fact that she was leaving. He jumped off the couch and followed her to the door, holding it open for her. He had to clear his throat to speak. “Very nice to meet you, Nat. I’ll, um, take care of your boy for you.” It came out polite, but a little distant.

“Not her ‘boy’,” Steve protested, because the last thing he needed was even _more_ misunderstandings about his relationship with Nat.

Nat said something too soft for Steve to hear. Damn her, she _knew_ how he felt about that sort of thing, but all he caught was the soft, lyrical cadence of her voice, distinct words lost. Steve thought about leaning forward to glare, but he’d end up throwing up on his own boots if he tried.

Instead, he sank back into the couch, hoping the cushions would swallow him up, since his body was yet again refusing to cooperate. It looked like he wasn’t going to bleed to death after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Saturday, September 7, 2013**

Bucky was absolutely in over his head and having a hard time keeping up. From the moment tongue piercings came up to when Nat whispered, “He _let_ you take care of him,” into his ear, he’d been completely at sea — especially when the tsunami of sensation that was her kiss washed over him. He hadn’t been kissed like that in way too long, and it was the most unexpected thing that had happened to him in a year. He had no idea how he felt about it.

Not now, anyway. In the moment it had felt incredible. And utterly novel, because Nat actually _had_ a tongue piercing, which had sort of blown Bucky’s mind.

But now he was alone in his room with Steve, whose face was still a complete ruin, and who was leaning so far back into the couch he looked like it would swallow him up. Bucky had been wondering how he was doing all week, kinda hoping to run into him again, but he couldn’t have imagined it would be something like this.

“Okay, I have no idea what that was —” He stepped over to the couch and knelt down in front of Steve to look closely at his face. If he tended to get into fights over Nat, Bucky really didn’t want Steve mad at him. Especially when he would have been just as okay kissing Steve. But upon close inspection, the greenish tint to Steve’s skin didn’t seem to be from the bruising. “Are you okay? What do you need?”

When Steve put the towel to his face, making only the slightest effort to keep the ice cubes together, Bucky got the feeling he was trying to hide, rather than soothing his wounds. “Just dump my corpse on the quad before dawn,” he muttered.

“Dude, don’t die on me. That would really suck.” Bucky had reached out and touched Steve’s knee, but pulled his hand back almost immediately, looking apologetically up into Steve’s face. “I haven’t gotten to know you yet. I wouldn’t know what to say over your remains.”

“Doesn’t matter, as long as you compost,” Steve said, choking back a laugh. Bucky could barely see the hint of a smile beyond the edge of the now-pink hand towel. “Really, though, I’m fine. I can get out of here. We wrecked your date. Maybe you can catch up with her.”

Bucky was lost again. Did Steve think Bucky had been on a date when he found them in the alley? And why did everyone always default to ‘her’ when it came to thinking about who he would date? “I wasn’t... I’m not dating anyone at the moment.” _Or ever, really_ , his mind supplied, unhelpfully. “And seriously, you can stay as long as you want.”

“You’re not —” Steve lifted the washcloth a little, so he could speak more clearly. “Then what were you doing down there? You went for _fun_?”

“Downtown? I just...” Bucky was _not_ about to explain V to Steve. “It’s not campus. And I had some shopping I needed to do.”

“Huh.” Steve let the washcloth drop back, and his long fingers, knuckles still bloody, shifted the ice cubes around. The spotlight mounted over the couch picked out the trails of water dripping down his jaw and throat, soaking into his T-shirt. “Got someone back home, then?” he asked, his tone of voice so falsely casual that even Bucky picked up on it.

Was he asking for Nat, or what? Why the questions?

“No? My sister’s birthday is coming up...” Bucky got up off the floor and sat next to Steve on the couch, turning toward him and leaning his left arm on the back cushion. “What were you guys doing at the Ale House? Was Mac’s closed?”

“Mac’s?” Steve lifted his head a little bit, perking up. “What’s that?”

It took Bucky a second to answer because when Steve’s eyes got a bit of spark to them, they were even more heart-stoppingly gorgeous than normal. And the downlight was causing dramatic shadows from his eyelashes to fall on his cheekbones. “It’s the dive bar over on Locust Lane. Only locals and students who venture past the tourist drag go there. But they’re really strict about checking IDs at the door...”

Steve gave him a bleak look made all the more grisly for the blood. Then he shifted so he could take out the wallet chained to his belt. He flopped the wallet open, showing a driver’s license under the name Steven Grant Rogers, with a Brooklyn address. There was nothing to mark him as being under twenty-one. In fact, the date made it clear they were almost the same age.

Bucky looked up sheepishly and said, “I thought you lived on four, with the freshmen. Nice pic, though.”

“Yeah. I took a couple years off to work,” Steve said a little evasively.

That would explain the hanging out in the stairwell away from the other freshmen, the older girlfriend, and possibly the fighting. And it made Bucky feel better knowing he wasn’t actually attracted to some kid straight out of high school. “Cool, well Mac’s is more chill than the Ale House.”

“I gotta find it. Fewer hipsters to be assholes at Natasha.” His smile faded, and he looked away as if embarrassed. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

The awkwardness was contagious. Bucky looked down at his hand in his lap. “Of course. Any time. I mean... not that you’ll need me, I just...” He took a breath, trying desperately to remove his foot from his mouth. “I got your back.”

Steve turned, and Bucky looked over just long enough for their eyes to meet. “Thanks,” Steve muttered. He lifted the washcloth and poked a finger at his split lip, then checked it for blood. When he found none, he took the washcloth down, leaving a trail of drips to soak into his T-shirt and jeans. “Nat can handle herself, only she doesn’t. She just laughs at those assholes.”

“And so you feel the need to...” Bucky shook his head. He needed to not get upset about this again. He wanted to like Nat. And he wanted to understand Steve. But this picking fights for fun thing wasn’t helping him do that.

“Somebody’s gotta. I mean, these fuckers think they can just go pawing at any woman they want, like nobody’s ever taught them the word _no_ before, and then _they_ get pissed —” Steve didn’t sit up, but he lifted his head and met Bucky’s eyes, and a sharp, passionate edge came into his voice. “I mean, shit, if Nat can’t wear her leathers or a halter out without some complete dick thinking she’s a slut, what the _fuck_ kind of world is it?”

Not only was Steve’s righteous indignation unexpectedly noble of him; the passion behind it was damned hot. Bucky revised his entire thought process around what had happened this evening, and he felt his attraction for Steve go up another notch. _Because that was helpful._

“Okay, fair question. And that’s gotta be particularly upsetting for you when these guys are making passes at your girlfriend...”

Steve huffed, this time without the spray of blood, though he did put a hand to his nose to check. “Nat doesn’t date. She fucks. Hangs out. Occasionally takes hostages.”

“Oh.” As much of that as Bucky could understand, it made sense. For her, at least.

“The, uh — I mean, don’t read into...” Steve made an awkward gesture with his hand, then picked up the wet washcloth. He sat up tentatively, as if expecting to be sick just from the movement. “She kisses — She likes kissing. Not just anyone. But when she likes... you know. Someone...” He glared down at the washcloth and snapped his mouth shut.

Bucky couldn’t quite decipher what Steve was saying, or why, or what about it made him so uncomfortable, but he seemed to be floundering, so Bucky tried to help. “So, you’re saying I shouldn’t take that as an invitation to pursue her?”

Steve’s face went red, but he hunched in on himself, shoulders shrugging. “She likes you. No reason not to go for it, if you want.”

“But ‘going for it’ means a casual fuck, right?” Bucky’s eyes were riveted on Steve’s face, even though he wasn’t looking back at Bucky.

For some reason, that seemed to relax Steve. He glanced at Bucky, frowning just a little. “She’d probably — I mean...” His eyes narrowed a little. “That _doesn’t_ make her...”

“No, shit. That’s not what I meant. I —” Bucky sighed at his ineptitude. “She can do whatever she wants. I’m not...” He dropped his eyes to his lap, feeling totally incapable of making himself clear without sounding like a total dork. “I have no problem with the way she functions around sex. I just don’t work that way, is all.”

“Oh.” Steve blinked over at Bucky, frowning a little bit. “She’s — I’ll talk to her. Sorry. But... why’d you come to help her?”

Talk to her? What did that mean? “I didn’t come to help her, though I would have, regardless of whether I wanted to sleep with her or not. I came to help _you._ ”

_“Me?”_

“Steve, no offense, but you were getting your ass handed to you, and Nat wasn’t doing anything about it, and I just... I’m sorry, but I couldn’t watch you get hurt like that. The asshole would have put you in the hospital if you’d let him.” Bucky was sure he’d offended with that speech, and he was afraid to look at Steve’s reaction, but he needed to see it. Which had him glancing up every other second to check.

Between one glance and the next, Steve must have looked up. Their eyes met again, but without the hostility Bucky had expected. Instead, Steve looked... _baffled_.

“But it wasn’t _your_ fight,” Steve said quietly. “You don’t — Look at you. Hell, you don’t even rescue chicks like Nat.”

None of what Steve had just said made any sense to Bucky. “It wasn’t your fight either; it was Nat’s. But you took it on because she’s your friend. And when you looked like you could use some help, I took it on because...” He couldn’t finish that sentence with ‘you’re mine’ because they weren’t friends. But that was how Bucky had felt. “I don’t know what you see when you look at me, but if I saw Nat in a fight before I’d even met her, I would have gone to help.”

Steve gave a brief laugh, though he stopped with a wince and touched the scab on his lip. “If you saw Nat in a fight, you’d stay the hell on the sidelines. Maybe shoot it for YouTube.”

Bucky huffed, half amused, half annoyed. “Fine. I would have helped hide the bodies afterward. Whatever.” He looked down at the soaking wet towel in Steve’s hand. “Gimme that.”

“It’s — I can throw it in the wash,” Steve offered, hunching over just a little bit again, as if embarrassed. He curled his fingers around the towel, which ended up splashing ice water down onto his jeans, making him flinch in surprise.

“It’s making a mess. Give it here, and let me wring it out.” Bucky reached for it as he moved to stand up. Steve’s fingers relaxed, and Bucky was able to get the towel free without spilling the melting ice everywhere.

“I should get going, anyway,” Steve said, standing up at the same time as Bucky did — but Steve swayed a little bit and pressed a hand to his stomach, eyes widening.

“You okay?” Bucky watched the color drain from Steve’s face and reached for his wastebasket, pulling it close.

“I just — yeah,” Steve obviously lied, waving toward the door. Then he took a couple of steps in that direction, saying, “Bathroom,” before he broke into a lurching run.

Bucky felt the absurd urge to run after him with the wastebasket in hand, in case he didn’t make it, but opted to follow at a distance to make sure he was okay. Like the rest of the dorm on a Saturday night, the bathroom was deserted. Steve was in the first stall, door latched, retching. He stopped after a few seconds, though it took another minute or two before Steve flushed the toilet and opened the door.

When he stepped out, he froze and blinked at Bucky. “You —”

Was it creepy to hang out when your friend was barfing? V got the stomach flu often, and when she was little Bucky had gotten used to actually holding her hair while she threw up, so this felt like a piece of cake. He wasn’t a sympathetic vomiter, so it didn’t bother him. “Wanted to make sure you were okay. Sorry. I’ll go...” He gestured toward the door.

“I’m — I’m fine,” he said, giving Bucky another strange look. Then he turned away and went to the sink, where he rinsed out his mouth a few times before he spotted himself in the mirror. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and started washing off the dried and sticky blood. “Fuck. I look — You should’ve just thrown me out.”

Bucky saw himself frown in confusion, and tried to smooth his forehead to not look angry. “Why would I do that when you’re hurt?”

“Look at me.” Steve scrubbed even more, then leaned in close to examine his nose and mouth. His eyes met Bucky’s in the mirror, though only for a second. “You’ve got better things to do on a Saturday night.”

At that moment, Bucky was absolutely certain that Steve would be the single best thing he could do on a Saturday night. But that was out of the question. “I don’t, really. Aside from working on the robotic appendage I’m developing, which I’m frankly sick of looking at right now.”

“You _really_ don’t have someone? Girlfriend?” Steve flicked a glance back down into the sink, then met Bucky’s eyes again. “Boyfriend?”

Bucky’s heart quickened at the last question. Simply knowing that option didn’t freak Steve out was more than he could have hoped for. He did everything in his power not to grin too widely as he replied. “Nope. Neither.” Then he felt his grin fade a bit and his eyes widen as he realized the way he’d phrased his answer sounded like... well, he might as well come out as queer now rather than later. Not that he’d actually managed to date a male-bodied person as of yet, though that didn’t change who he was attracted to...

Was he imagining that smile? It was hard to tell, looking at Steve’s reflection as he bent over to keep rinsing off the blood. “Sure you don’t want me to tell Nat?” he teased — and the smile was real, at least now, a sharp, mischievous grin that made him wince again.

Bucky couldn’t help but mirror that smile. “It depends on what she’d do with that information.” For three heartbeats Bucky wasn’t sure he should have said that, and then he saw the blush coloring Steve’s cheeks.

Steve hid it with another splash of water, saying, “She takes hostages for fun. She might branch out into blackmail.”

“She wouldn’t get much from me, I...” Bucky trailed off when he registered the drops of red on the white sink and realized that Steve had puked because he’d swallowed so much blood. _Jesus. Stop flirting, Barnes._ “You need juice. And maybe some food. Come on.”

“I have granola bars in my room. Or — I dunno, I can order a pizza or something.” Steve shook his hands, scattering water, and then leaned in again, turning his head. He prodded at his nose, then touched the piercing with another quick wince. “I should get rid of this, but a ring’s even more dangerous.”

Bucky winced at the image of a ring tearing out in a fight and tried to focus on making sure Steve got what he needed to be okay. After all, Nat had made it sound like he didn’t normally let people help him, so if Bucky had the chance right now, he was going to strike while the iron was hot. Even if it meant telling a white lie. “Actually, I was gonna order pizza when I got home anyway. There’s one good place in town that delivers. What do you like on yours?” He took his phone out of his pocket and pulled up the number for Dino’s.

Steve turned, rubbing at his nose one last time before he dropped his hands to his sides. With his face clean, he looked better, but still not a hundred percent. The swelling and bruising was going to get worse before it healed. “No, really. It’s okay. Saturday night. You’ve gotta have _something_ else to do.”

Bucky couldn’t tell if Steve was trying to give him an out or if he was looking for one himself, and suddenly he felt really pushy. But Steve looked like he hadn’t eaten in a day. Maybe he’d been surviving on those granola bars he mentioned. The thought made Bucky start channeling his mother, making sure people got fed. “I mean... if _you_ do, that’s fine — though you might wanna take it easy — but no. I really don’t.” He shrugged, realizing he’d come out as queer and a complete nerd in a matter of two minutes. So much for being cool for the hot punk guy. He pressed the call button and put the phone to his ear more as a distraction than anything. “So, what, Canadian bacon and pineapple?”

The uninjured corner of Steve’s mouth quirked up. “Don’t make phone calls from the _bathroom_ , asshole,” he said, giving Bucky a push for the door before he tugged on the chain hanging from his belt, pulling his wallet out of his pocket. The pizza place answered, just as Steve said, “Pepperoni and onion. Not making out with anyone, so fuck it.”

He should have expected that to be true, but it took Steve saying it to really land home for Bucky that this wasn’t anywhere close to a date. This was two dudes eating pizza after a barfight. It didn’t get more hetero than this. All desire to go through with it left him for a moment, but he swallowed down the disappointment he hadn’t realized was possible and ordered. “One extra large pepperoni pizza with onion on half of it. Campus address, Apatow, third floor. Barnes.” He pulled the phone away from his mouth to whisper at Steve. “Anything else? Soda? Garlic knots to go with your onion breath?”

In answer, Steve flipped him off. Bucky counted that as a win.

 

~~~

 

**Sunday, September 8, 2013**

Up on the roof, it was so windy that Steve couldn’t hear a damned thing. Distance turned the shouts and laughter from the parking lot into a low rush of indistinct sound. A half-dozen cars had just pulled in together and were disgorging students probably coming home from a party. Steve wondered if any of them were his roommates. Fuck, he hated sleeping anywhere near drunks.

When he pressed the phone to his good ear, most of the background noise cut off. After three rings, Nat answered, “Why aren’t you fucking him? Or are you calling me to listen in?”

Steve sighed and sat down on the stepping stone he’d brought up here a couple days ago. He kept it hidden behind an A/C duct or vent or something. It was just barely big enough to keep his ass off the rough, unfinished surface of the roof. “He’s not my type,” he lied.

“Fuck you and your type. He _is_ your type. Did you look at him? He’s gorgeous.”

“And he’s straight,” Steve insisted, despite how Bucky had answered his question. Saying ‘neither’ was just him playing good little ally. It went with the hero complex that made him get involved in the brawl.

“He is? How do you know?” she asked, sounding puzzled.

“Did you look at him? His room?”

“So? You of all people know better than to judge by looks.”

Steve huffed and leaned his head back, looking up at the sky. The light pollution was pretty bad, but he could see a few stars, though no moon. “He’s just... nice.”

Nat’s sigh seemed disappointed. “I figured that out when you actually got in his car. You still have my stun gun?”

Steve rolled his eyes. She’d slipped him the stun gun when she’d helped him into Bucky’s car, as if Bucky were some sort of serial killer picking up random victims at bar fights. “Yeah. You coming back for it?”

“Next Saturday night, maybe the weekend after. You still owe me a decent date.”

“Oh, you coming here to take Bucky out?” Steve asked, surprising himself with the sharp edge that crept into his tone.

“Hey. That’s not fair.”

“What the fuck was with that kiss, then?”

Nat didn’t answer right away, and Steve’s heart skipped. Did she _actually_ like Bucky? He wasn’t her type, was he? Hell, Steve didn’t know, because Nat had never settled down with anyone for longer than a couple of dates. Even Steve was a best-friend-with-benefits and not her ‘type’.

“I wanted to see how he’d handle it,” she finally said, her voice subdued. “Guy like that, I figured he’s too vanilla to run with us. Only when he _didn’t_ freak out, I thought you’d be okay with him.”

“He’s _nice_ ,” Steve repeated. “We ordered pizza. He told me some of what the fuck was all over his workbench. That’s it.”

“Fuck. I’m sorry, babe. I would’ve stayed, but I figured you had a shot at getting some.”

“It’s fine. I mean, I got a friend out of it. Yay me.”

His flat tone made her curse in Russian, which always brought Steve a little smile. He knew about four words of Russian that could be repeated in polite company and about forty that couldn’t, thanks to her.

“Nat, it’s _really_ okay,” he finally said as the swearing died down. “If nothing else, I know he can throw a punch, so I know better than to start shit with him.”

“Like that would stop you.”

Steve laughed, though it hurt his lip. “Okay, so I know not to give him warning.”

“You _always_ give warning, asshole,” she said fondly. “Most fucked up white knight ever.”

Steve shrugged. “That’s me. You gonna tell Aunt Vera about tonight?”

“Only if you piss me off. It’s good to have something to hold over you again,” she said cheerily.

“It’ll just upset her.”

“Which is why you’re gonna let me practice koi-dragons on you.”

“Oh, fuck no,” he protested. “I don’t want a fucking _fish_ tattoo!”

“I’ll use markers, then. It’ll fade in a week.”

“The last time you said that, I ended up with a tattoo _on my ass_.”

“And it stopped hurting in a week! See? I didn’t lie. I just used the wrong words. English isn’t my first language.”

 

~~~

 

Nothing was coming together. Bucky was feeling antsy and clumsy, and that never boded well when soldering was involved. It was too early to be awake on a Sunday, anyway, but he hadn’t felt like working after Steve left, so he’d actually gone to bed at a decent hour. Now, though, Bucky needed to _not_ be in his room where he could look over at the couch, expecting to see Steve sitting there, and then be disappointed.

For what he absolutely should not think of as a first date, he’d had fun. Once he’d made Steve take some ibuprofen and got him a couple of bottles of juice out of the vending machine downstairs, they both were able to relax and talk about things that weren’t Steve’s nose or his tendency to fight. He was a funny guy, his humor harsh but not too biting, and Bucky had enjoyed the back and forth that they’d managed.

But reliving every last moment while trying to not burn himself with molten lead/tin alloy was not a sustainable activity for the day.

He sighed and grabbed his satchel, threw a textbook and his drafting notebook into it, then stalked off to the roof, telling himself he was _not_ looking to see if Steve was in the stairwell. He hadn’t been there every other time Bucky had checked, and today would be no different.

He’d gotten good at jimmying the lock, however, so he was up on the roof before he could lose his temper at an inanimate object as proxy for himself. And of course, the one time he wasn’t braced for it, he saw Steve. He was sitting in the corner of the roof, almost invisible against the parapet, with black earbuds leading to the phone balanced on his left knee. He used his right leg to brace his sketchpad, and he was drawing with quick, short strokes.

Bucky hated what the sight did to undermine the stability of his stomach. Steve was in his usual all-black with his hair falling forward and a look of fierce concentration on his face. It was just unfair. But just when Bucky was thinking of retreating, Steve looked up and blinked those too-pretty blue eyes, then shoved his pencil between his teeth so he could pull out his earbuds.

“Wha?” he asked around the pencil, his earbuds leaking tinny music turned up loud into the air.

Bucky sighed inwardly and looked anywhere but at Steve’s mouth as he clambered up onto the roof from the trapdoor. Which was hard, because the sight of Steve’s parted lips and teeth around the pencil was magnetic.

“Hey. You figured out the lock, I see...”

Steve’s cheeks darkened, and he pulled the pencil out of his mouth, looking down as if embarrassed. “Yeah. Uh. I’m good with stuff like that. Sorry, did you want...” He waved the pencil at the roof. “I can go.”

“No, it’s fine. I was just getting cabin fever in my room. I’m not trying to do yoga to greet the morning or anything.” He smiled, hoping Steve wouldn’t take off. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just work quietly over here?”

Steve nodded, though he didn’t look back down at his sketchpad. Instead, he asked, “Work on what?”

“Um...” Last night, Steve’s eyes had glazed over slightly when Bucky had tried to explain his work, so he didn’t want to bore him with details. “Designing the neural interface for that robotic limb. It’s macro thinking, instead of the micro of soldering test components for days. Systems engineering, sort of. More like drawing. Well, drafting. Electronics architecture, I guess.”

“Schematics? I designed a circuit board tattoo last year. Fucking detailed. Drove Nat crazy, trying to ink all those parallel lines.”

 _Jesus._ As if Bucky needed more temptation to get a tattoo from Nat. Designed by Steve. Dammit. “Schematics. Yes. Exactly.” He sat down near Steve and got out his own notebook and a mechanical pencil. “How did that turn out?”

“She’s a perfectionist. She works really slowly, but her work’s flawless because of it,” Steve said proudly. “So yeah, I drew out the client’s sketch, but Nat ran it past a couple of engineers to make sure it was accurate. And for her spider — Black Widow, y’know? — she did all sorts of research on different webs.”

Bucky nodded his head, somehow unsurprised. Nat seemed to have a lot going on behind that gorgeous face. Her intelligent, perceptive eyes gave her away. And he could appreciate a perfectionist. It was honestly an advantage in his line of study. “Did one of you say that she knows computers, too?”

Again, Steve’s face went red. “Yeah, uh... She’s — She’s sort of a hacker, kinda? I mean, not hijacking fighter jets and shit, but...”

 _Aha._ Future conversations with Nat were going to be a lot more interesting than Bucky had thought. If those happened. He’d stopped taking anything that had to do with these two for granted, however, after the rollercoaster that had been last night. The whole time they’d hung out in Bucky’s room, Steve had swung between teasing Bucky about getting with Nat and being overly protective of her, almost jealous, even as he swore up and down they weren’t together.

“Heh, no worries. Some of my best friends are hackers.”

Steve’s smile almost made it all the way, though he stopped and touched the back of his hand to the scab on his lip. The bruising didn’t seem to be too bad, especially since Steve had pale, freckled skin that would show even the slightest injury. “She’s got a lot of kinda random skills. She, uh...” He glanced shyly away, and Bucky had to tell himself not to stare at his profile. Those eyelashes. “She maybe taught me how to pick locks, too. So the supply closet door...”

Bucky’s eyes went wide in shock, and then an admiring smile crept up slowly. He knew he shouldn’t find that so attractive, but he did. “Jesus. I guess that’s one way to do it. And here I was worrying you’d fuck it up. What an asshole.” He smirked at Steve, self-deprecatingly.

“Yeah, well. You’re allowed to be an asshole,” Steve said, grinning down at his sketchpad. Then he shot Bucky a sidelong look and added, “ _Once_ , Barnes. That’s your free pass. So don’t do it again.”

“Yes, sir.” It was out of Bucky’s mouth before he could think, his smirk going wide and mischievous.

There was a forced feeling to Steve’s laugh, and he looked away again, blond hair throwing his eyes into shadow. “I didn’t know you were trainable. I might let you see Nat sooner than expected.”

 _Dammit, Barnes. Behave yourself._ Because apparently, Steve was going to deflect even unintentional advances with suggestions about Nat. Disconcertingly hot suggestions about Nat. “No rush. I mean, she’s great and all, but yeah...” He looked blankly down at his notebook, hoping to God at some point he could talk to this boy without sounding like an idiot. “This is nice.”

Steve nodded, still looking at his sketchbook. Then, as if impulsively, he stuck the pencil in his mouth again and lifted the book so he could flip back a couple of pages. “She wanfs ’a praffiss on ’ee,” he said, showing him a thick-bodied fish-like monster with tentacles around its face and legs with claws. It was shaded in blue.

“Whoa. That’s amazing.” Bucky stared for a good half a minute before he found his voice. “Are you gonna let her? And what does ‘practice’ mean, exactly?”

“Markers. _Only_ markers, this time,” Steve said firmly. Then he laughed, shaking his head. “Last time she used ink, the damned sneak.”

Bucky stared at Steve’s bright smile and easy laughter as if they were as incredible as what he was saying. “Wait, seriously? Didn’t you notice? I thought it hurt...”

“Well, yeah. But by the time she’d started... I mean, it’s fine. Not like she did it without permission.” He shrugged and gave the fish-monster a wry look. “I just don’t want _this_ on my ass or something. I mean, yeah, it’s art, but... it’s a fucking _fish_.”

“It’s a gorgeous fucking fish- _monster_ , though. Jesus. Whoever gets this is going to love it.” Bucky tried not to spend too much time contemplating whether Steve had meant he had something _else_ tattooed on his ass, and instead concentrated on the image at hand.

Steve’s smile looked surprised, even startled. “Yeah? The color’s okay?”

Bucky didn’t know thing one about color theory; all he knew was that the drawing was amazing. “I mean, I might be biased...” He dropped his eyes from Steve’s expectant face to the page. “Blue’s my favorite. But whatever color you make it is gonna look hot.”

“But see, that’s the pain in the ass. Most real koi are red, white, and gold, right? Only this chick’s a redhead. Pale skin, blue veins, freckles. A giant back-sized tat in _red_ would make her look like she got the world’s most fucked-up sunburn,” Steve said, words coming more quickly in his enthusiasm. “She needs cool colors. You... You could do anything. Warm or cool.”

Absurdly, Bucky felt his face heat up. It wasn’t even really a compliment. “Maybe, but I’d be stupid not to listen to your advice.”

“Good to know. It’s a fallback career option.” Steve looked at the koi-dragon for a couple of seconds, then paged forward, to the sketch he’d been working on. It looked like another koi-dragon, just from a different angle, without coloring.

“What’s the career goal, then?” Bucky asked the question softly, not sure if he should. Was it a bad idea to talk to an artist about job opportunities?

Steve snorted and got back to sketching. “No fuckin’ clue. I mean, ‘art’ doesn’t really pay the bills, except for comics, and that’s not my thing. And I don’t know shit about digital art.” He shrugged and glanced over at Bucky. “You got a fallback if neuroscience doesn’t work out?”

Bucky’s mouth gaped open for a moment before he shut it with an audible pop. He’d been on this path since he was just a little older than V. The odds that he’d get derailed seemed very slim. “I never thought about that. There are paying jobs in my field. I guess I’d just do robotics, separate from the interfacing with human circuitry.” Not circuitry. Nervous system. Same difference in some ways, though.

Steve’s grin reappeared. “Robotics could be fun, too. Art’s all I’ve ever been good at. The rest of school...” He shrugged. “Anyway, you get breakfast yet? I’m starving.”

Bucky couldn’t tell if Steve was implying he wasn’t smart or just that he didn’t have the patience to suffer through the indignities of high school. The latter seemed much more probable to Bucky. “Not really. Thought about cold pizza, then decided against it. Dining hall?”

Steve glanced over at his phone, which was still playing music. “Nah. Dining hall’s not really my thing. I mean, sometimes I grab a sandwich, but...” He shrugged. “Maybe I’ll go off campus or something.”

“Sure, that place can be a madhouse. Though it’s easier with two...” Bucky didn’t need Steve to try and get out of being seen with him on campus, so he continued. “There’s a diner that does stuffed french toast down the coast a bit. It’s kinda far, but if you’ve never had that, it’s worth the trip...”

“That —” Steve bit the side of his lip, opposite the scab from last night. “I was gonna go to McD’s or something.”

Bucky hadn’t missed how Steve had wolfed down his half of the pizza last night, nor the initial, interested, cut off, response. If he was ‘starving’ he shouldn’t fill his stomach with fast food. “It’s Sunday brunch. My mom would be appalled if we ate fast food for brunch. Come on. My treat. You’re gonna love the waitress.”

“Oh. No, that’s okay,” Steve said, fussing to get everything put away. “Really, I gotta do these drawings, too. Maybe next Sunday or something?”

This was either refusal to be seen out with another guy, or it was not wanting someone else to pay for him. Bucky wanted to push, because it had worked last night, but he also didn’t want Steve to feel obligated. Or indebted. He’d made sure to pay for exactly half of the pizza, and then ate exactly half, faster than Bucky could eat a quarter, and wouldn’t take the leftovers. Why was money so complicated even when you had it? He’d have to take a raincheck and figure out how to navigate this in between then and now.

“Deal. Next Sunday.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Sunday, September 15, 2013**

The dining halls all opened at six, but apparently weekends meant they were virtually deserted at that hour. Bleary from only a few hours’ sleep, Steve wandered through, filled a tray, and actually sat down long enough to eat a stack of gritty pancakes. He’d picked up what he thought might be scrambled eggs, but they’d separated into a strange puddle of oil and solid bits, so he dumped those in the trash. One more pass netted him four pieces of toast, a single-serving box of Frosted Flakes, and a handful of condiment packets, all of which went into the bottom of the satchel. He walked out without the bored hall monitor even looking up from his magazine —

“Steve?”

Startled, Steve stopped fussing with his satchel. For one disorienting moment, he wondered if he’d hallucinated the past week, because Bucky was wearing the same T-shirt and jeans as last Sunday. His hair was sticking up at odd angles, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

“Hey. You okay?” Steve asked, closing the satchel flap.

“Yeah, um... haven’t slept yet. Or much. What are you doing up? Super-late night for you and Nat?”

“Stupid roommates,” Steve said, somehow resisting the urge to poke Bucky and see if he’d fall over. “You need help or something?”

“What? No, just...” Bucky blinked, as if he had no idea why he was there. “Food. You coming or going?”

Steve opened his mouth to say he was leaving, but what came out was, “Keeping you from killing yourself. What do you need more? Coffee or sleep?”

“Hard to tell. I sort of binge on both, back and forth. But it’s been coffee for a while now and I’m not seeing straight, so...” He walked toward the dining hall entrance, slowly, but without weaving. “Food first. I’ll sleep better on a full stomach.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Steve lifted a hand just in case Bucky needed help swiping his card at the entrance. Once Bucky was through, Steve went over to the hall monitor. In his most sheepish voice, he asked, “You mind if I go back in for a sec? I think I left my art pencils on the table.”

“Whatever,” the guy mumbled with a wave, and Steve hurried inside.

He caught up with Bucky in the food service area, where he was eyeing the self-service waffle maker as if he might be thinking of how to modify it so it wasn’t a complete mystery. Or hoping it was already robotic and would make a waffle by itself.

Bucky glanced over at him and then away. “Hey. Why is breakfast so hard? I just need protein that isn’t powdered eggs. Did they move the peanut butter? It used to be by the bread...” He was speaking about half speed.

“Pancakes. Bacon. Sausage.” Steve finally took hold of Bucky’s arm and steered him away from the potential for an early-morning visit to the emergency room’s burn ward. Bucky went along without protest, thankfully. Once they were safe, Steve let go and went for a plate and tray.

When he reached Bucky again he looked a bit more awake, but he took the tray from Steve without looking away from the array of food. “Okay, yes. Pancake sandwich with peanut butter and syrup and bacon. And maybe a banana.”

“You got it. Go sit down,” Steve said, taking the tray away from Bucky. “And no coffee for you. Sleep.”

“Juice. OJ.” He finally looked up from wherever his eyes had zoned out to. “I can do it, Steve.”

“Dude, I could take you in a fight _without_ Nat for backup,” Steve pointed out truthfully, looking up at Bucky. “Go sit before I kick your ass and embarrass you in front of... well, nobody.”

Bucky frowned. “I can... Okay, no. Focusing is _really_ hard right now. Tables are that way?” He pointed in the right direction, then squinted towards the nearest one.

“Yup. Go,” Steve said, giving Bucky a push. That got him moving, and Steve turned back to load up a plate, wondering what the hell he was doing. He was shit at taking care of himself, much less someone else.

Still, he put together a triple-decker pancake sandwich with a generous portion of bacon, dumped syrup over everything, then started out. Somehow, he remembered the banana before he reached the table — and he went back for it, instead of assuming Bucky would be too tired to notice. Then he even went back for the juice, because apparently he was turning into Aunt Vera or something.

Finally, he went out to the dining area, put the tray down, and slid it in front of Bucky. His intention to leave turned to dust when Bucky looked up at him with a sleepy, unguarded smile. “I’m not feeding you,” Steve warned as he sat down next to Bucky.

“I can do it. I can focus close up.” He leaned in slightly towards Steve. “I can see you just fine. Not that I wouldn’t recognize you from, like, fifty feet away or something.” He straightened up as he picked up his fork and started to cut into the pancakes.

Steve huffed out a laugh and settled his satchel on his lap. He was tempted to take out his sketchbook, but he didn’t want to risk Bucky spilling his juice or splattering syrup on the pages. Besides, Steve wasn’t exactly awake himself.

After watching to make sure Bucky was eating and not just playing with his food, Steve asked, “What kept you up all night? Hot date?”

“Oh, God. This is good, Steve. Thanks. I think it was breakfast yesterday when I remembered last.” He took another three bites before he actually answered Steve’s question. “No dates. No time. I had a breakthrough on how to route signal through the whole arm, and I guess... Is it Sunday?”

“Mostly Sunday, yeah. Though for you, maybe it’s still Saturday,” Steve said with a soft laugh. “You get away with this shit at home, or is it just a college thing?”

Bucky had to chase his too-large mouthful with some orange juice before he could answer. “The not-eating or the not-sleeping? ’Cause Mom leaves snacks and reminds me about meals. They gave up trying to get me to sleep when I was V’s age.”

“V. The little girl?” Steve asked, trying to remember what she’d looked like, beyond short and agender.

“Yeah. But don’t let her hear you call her that. Better think of her as your one-man water bottle rescue team. She’s ten, and she can school _me_ on stuff.” Bucky’s proud older brother smile made Steve grin a little enviously.

“Ten, huh? That’s... elementary school?” Steve guessed a little fuzzily. He’d entered school a year late because he’d been sick, then jumped ahead a couple of years, back when his mom had been around to help him. “What’s her thing?”

“What isn’t? She’s in sixth grade, ’cause she skipped second and third, and she’s voracious. This week it’s literally rocket science — she’s thinking about plasma fuels — and last week there was something about body decomposition.” He looked up from his food, face serious. “She was reading _Frankenstein_ and wondered how Victor got fresh body parts to make his creature.”

“Grave robbery. Medical schools had a thing where they’d pay people for bodies for anatomy studies. Gotta be extra parts, right?” Only when he was finished did he realize this might not be the best topic of conversation for breakfast.

“Yeah, she got into looking up travel times back in the day, like trains and carriages and stuff. How long it would take to transport the bodies, whether they would be on ice... I dunno. I told her I’m sure Victor sourced locally, and she sent me a picture of her not-impressed face.” Bucky smirked as he pushed his almost empty plate away, then put a hand on his stomach. “Ugh, I’m so full. I think my stomach shrank.”

“Yeah, well, you starved yourself for a day, fuckin’ idiot,” Steve scolded. He got up, settling his satchel at his hip, and put a hand on the back of Bucky’s chair, careful to not actually touch him. “Lemme get you back to your room.”

“I can do it. I’ve said that a lot, huh?” Bucky smiled sleepily as he stood. He took hold of Steve’s shoulder, not really needing the support, but he didn’t let go as he started walking to the door. “But thanks. Breakfast would _not_ have been this successful without you.”

They were just through the door when Bucky turned to him as if remembering something. “Wait, aren’t you tired? You were probably up late, and it’s, like, stupid early. Why are you awake again?”

“Drunk roommates or some shit,” Steve said a little bitterly. He wasn’t even sure what his roommates were named — only that every one of them was a waste of air. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh, Jesus. You’re in a quad, huh? Shit. That was the worst part of freshman year.” Bucky shook his head as if banishing the thought. The force of it made him swerve slightly in his step, pulling his hand away from Steve’s shoulder.

Steve reached out and caught Bucky’s elbow, saying, “Easy.” Bucky outweighed Steve by a million pounds of solid muscle, but somehow Steve got him all the way down the hallway and within reach of the elevator call button. One touch, and the doors slid open.

“I’m fine. I...” Bucky looked over at Steve’s face and squinted as they got in the elevator. “You look good, by the way.”

Steve hit the button for the third floor. “I —” He blinked up at Bucky, who was already sagging against the wall, eyes closed. “When did you last sleep?”

“If this is Sunday...Thursday?” Bucky turned and cracked an eye open at Steve. He waved a hand in front of his own face as he spoke. “I meant your bruises and stuff. It’s all healing.”

Disappointment made Steve flinch. He shrugged and looked up at the floor display. The elevators were old and slow. “Yeah. I heal pretty quick, as long as it’s not bronchitis. Thursday? Seriously? Dude,” he said, shaking his head.

“Two nights is my self-imposed limit. If I tried to stay up tonight, I’d be hallucinating by Monday lunchtime.”

“Could be fun.” When the elevator jolted, Steve caught Bucky’s arm again. “Got your room key, or am I breaking in?”

Bucky freed himself from Steve’s grasp, but only so he could get his key out of his pocket and hand it over. Out in the hall, he leaned his shoulder and head against the wall next to his door and watched Steve unlock it. “Sometime when my eyes are working, I wanna watch you.”

Heat crawled up Steve’s face, and he fumbled the keys. “Watch — Watch me what?” he asked, shoving the door open.

“Pick a lock.” Bucky almost bumped into Steve on the way in, he was following so close. “Though now that you mention it, draw.”

Steve kicked the door closed and turned so he could herd Bucky towards the loft bed. For a second, he thought about putting Bucky on the couch instead, but Bucky was almost six feet tall, and the couch was a double. He’d end up folded in half and unable to walk tomorrow morning.

“Yeah, someday,” Steve said distractedly, prodding Bucky towards the ladder. “Go on up. Can you make it?”

“I can do it. But shoes. And pants. Gimme a sec.” Bucky toed off his shoes, almost losing his balance twice while at it, then unbuckled his belt and dropped his jeans in a puddle at his feet. He stepped out of the clothes and directly onto the ladder that made up the short end of his loft, and slowly climbed up to flop onto the mattress just above Steve’s head. His voice was muffled by the pillow he’d face-planted into. “Made it.”

Steve climbed up a couple of rungs, enough that he could get hold of the comforter that was rumpled and shoved against the wall. He tugged it out from under Bucky’s leg — and, yeah, stared hard at Bucky’s ass, because for a school nerd, he was in _damned_ good shape. After at least a full second, maybe two, the guilt hit, because he wasn’t about to be _that creepy guy_.

Not that it helped him feel better when he threw the blanket over Bucky’s body. He tugged it down enough to be sure Bucky wouldn’t suffocate, then climbed off the ladder. He was tired and lonely and stressed over next week’s quizzes, and now he was _really_ aware of just how fucking hot Bucky was.

And there was no point in going upstairs. Not at this hour, when the roommates would be waking up like a herd of thundering morons.

Instead, he sat down on Bucky’s couch, telling himself it was just until his headache went away. Besides, he’d better be sure that Bucky was actually staying asleep and not just dozing. The last thing he needed was Bucky hurting himself by sleep-soldering or something.

 

~~~

 

Bucky woke to the realization that it was day. Bright day. Probably somewhere in the middle of the day. Which day, he wasn’t sure. He thought the last time he’d been awake it had been Sunday, and he vaguely remembered eating breakfast food. Aside from that, no clue. And his phone wasn’t on the pillow next to him. It was probably wherever his pants were. He seriously considered rolling over and throwing the blanket over his head, but an unfamiliar huffing noise had him peering over the side of his loft instead.

The sight that met him was an incongruously adorable one. Steve was asleep on the couch beneath the bed, his tattooed arm underneath his head, his satchel tucked between his chest and his knees. He actually fit on the loveseat curled up protectively like that. His hair fell over his forehead, but Bucky could see his profile and found himself staring at the fan of eyelashes on his cheeks and the lines of his cheekbone and jaw. Not to mention his slightly parted lips. If Bucky had had any life-drawing skills he would have used them now. Instead he just looked, for way too long. Until way too much blood had rushed to his head, hanging over the edge of the bed.

It took until he tore his eyes away to remember how Steve had helped him at the dining hall and had gone so far as to get him back to his room. His face flushed hot in embarrassment at being so stupid and helpless in front of Steve, of all people. Bucky didn’t remember half of what he’d said or how he’d ended up half-dressed and tucked into his loft bed. Oh God, had he dropped his pants in front of Steve?

_Jesus._

Bucky flopped onto his back and stared at the ceiling, trying to decide if he could get down and fully clothed before Steve woke, or if he should just not move and pretend to be asleep when Steve got up.

He couldn’t hide in bed all day, though. He got out as quietly as he could, but he couldn’t stop the lamp under the loft from giving a sharp, metallic rattle, and Steve stirred in response. Bucky swore under his breath and dropped to the floor to fling his pants on just as Steve let out a quiet sigh and shifted. A _thump_ made Bucky turn in time to see Steve prop up on one elbow and blink down at his fallen satchel.

“Huh?”

“Hey. Sorry...” Bucky wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. Probably everything. Because Steve looked massively confused and adorably sleep-fuzzy, and Bucky felt bad that he’d made Steve sleep on the couch. He was a better host than that.

Steve blinked at him a few times and sat up, folding one leg under the other. He’d taken off his boots, though he wasn’t wearing socks. “You okay?”

Bucky frowned in confusion. “Yeah? I...” And then he realized Steve was referencing how woozy-tired he’d been before crashing. Steve had actually had to unlock the door for him. Bucky shook his head at himself. “Yeah. Sorry. I just needed sleep. Thanks for...”

After a few silent, lazy-feeling seconds, Steve waved a hand. “’S okay. Go back to bed. You need it,” he said, leaning down to drag the boots over. He lifted a foot and tried to shove it into the boot but ended up stepping on the tongue.

Watching Steve’s uncoordinated motor skills, Bucky wondered if Steve was getting much sleep either. With three roommates, it seemed a long shot. “You’re welcome to stay, man. The couch is yours whenever.”

“No, you need to go back to sleep.” Steve got his foot out of the boot and eyed Bucky. “You weren’t wearing jeans. Gray boxer-briefs.”

Bucky’s whole face went hot in about two seconds. “Jesus, yeah. I’m sorry. I was half-asleep. I wasn’t thinking.” He ran his hand through his hair. No wonder Steve wanted to leave.

“No, it’s cool.” Steve had to bend over and reach into the boot to get the tongue unfolded. The ridges of his spine pressed against his T-shirt. “You can get away with any color, remember?”

Bucky furrowed his brow for a second, then snorted a laugh. “Glad I have your approval on my clothing choices, Mr. I-don’t-wear-socks-inside-my-combat-boots.”

Steve blinked down at the boots. Then he laughed and leaned back against the couch, running both hands through his hair. The shaved side was growing out. “Hey. Be glad I remembered pants, fucker. I don’t even remember getting up this morning.”

“How the hell were you able to take such good care of me, then?” The question was out of Bucky’s mouth before he’d really thought it through. He wanted to know the answer, but could probably have phrased it better.

“You mean getting you in —” Steve snapped his mouth shut, cheeks going red. “Go back to sleep.”

Bucky couldn’t help staring at how pretty Steve was when he blushed. “You too. I mean it, the couch is yours. You fit on it like it was made for you.”

“It’s... It’s not so bad, for something from IKEA. Pretty nice setup overall here. Freshmen can’t get singles,” Steve complained.

“Believe me, I know. I fought tooth and nail for this. My first year was hell in my quad.” Bucky wanted to be closer to Steve while they talked, but he opted to sit on the worktable stool, instead of on Steve’s couch. “By Thanksgiving I just gave up and basically lived in the library. Second year I almost dated a junior just to have access to their single.”

“There’s a thought,” Steve said, though his voice was dry, almost bitter. He gave up on trying to put on his boots and instead picked up the satchel. “Go back to bed. You need more sleep. You still look undead.”

Bucky pulled a wry face. “Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself, pal.” He nudged Steve’s knee with his foot. “Steve. Take your own damned advice. If you can’t sleep in your room, just stay.”

In an unconscious gesture that Bucky was starting to enjoy more than he should, Steve pushed his hair back again, then he frowned up at Bucky. “Why?”

If Bucky could answer that, he’d feel a lot better about things. As it was, ‘you’re pretty’ was not a legitimate response. “Why the hell not? I’ve got the space, and I know what it’s like.” He got up, grabbed a pair of pajama pants from his closet, and then held them up. “I’m not gonna twist your arm, but if it helps, at least I won’t be indecent.”

“Whatever. But gray’s your color,” Steve muttered, lowering the satchel back to the floor next to his boots. He followed the motion and ended up sideways on the couch, and he pulled his legs up, curling his body to fit on the loveseat. “Just throw me out whenever.”

Bucky was pretty sure Steve’s eyes were already closed but he walked over by the ladder to be out of Steve’s line of sight while he changed. Then he made himself climb up to his loft instead of trying to figure out how the two of them could fit on the tiny couch together. All he wanted was to spoon Steve as they both fell asleep, but he’d have to make do with hugging his pillow instead.

It took him much longer than it should have to fall asleep, knowing Steve was directly below him.

When Bucky woke up Sunday night, the sky outside the window was dark, and Steve was gone, though there was a pile of dry toast, slightly battered at the corners, prominently centered on Bucky’s workbench, along with two plastic containers of probably-melted butter.

The sight warmed him in a way he knew it shouldn’t, but he had to admit to himself that he could really get used to Steve making sure he ate.

 

~~~

 

**Thursday, September 19, 2013**

Because of the last two days of rain, Bucky hadn’t gone near the roof, where he hoped to find Steve — but then he remembered that Steve seemed to also like lurking in the stairwell. He found Steve halfway between the third and fourth floors, nested in the corner with his sketchpad and a pile of dining hall pizza slices wrapped in napkins. Shoved in the opposite corner, where Steve had been sitting that first time they’d met, was a stack of textbooks.

“Nice ‘room’. Too bad you can’t drag your mattress down here. Probably more peaceful than the quad, huh?” He leaned against the railing and tried not to crane his neck to look at what Steve was drawing.

“Ugh. Yeah. I can’t fucking concentrate.” Steve shoved the pencil behind his ear and slouched back into the corner. Bucky would’ve thought he was hiding, but he comfortably met Bucky’s eyes and even managed a weak smile. “Roof’s soaked.”

“The couch is free...” Bucky felt a bit like hiding after that, not wanting to seem so desperate for company when Steve was so envious of his single.

Steve’s smile twitched, and he looked down at the pile of pizza slices. “They just delivered dinner. Want some? I got off most of the eraser dust.”

Bucky wondered how much extra food Steve stole from the dining hall or if it was just that he never sat down to eat there. Bucky didn’t blame him for taking his food to go. The place was usually crowded and depressing. “Actually, I guess I forgot lunch again, so...”

Steve brightened visibly and put his sketchbook aside. Bucky saw a half-dozen started sketches — eyes, a doorway, part of a tree — but nothing finished. “Sit down,” Steve invited, pulling more napkins out of his satchel as makeshift plates. When he left black fingerprints, he wiped his hands on his jeans and added, “Uh, you can serve, if you don’t want to eat charcoal. It won’t kill you.”

“Carbon.” Bucky sat down and handed over a slice on a few napkins before grabbing one for himself. “And if the pizza is poisonous, it’ll pull the toxins from your body. Thanks, by the way.”

“Isn’t it graphite or graphene or something?” Heedless of his still-blackened fingers, Steve picked up the pizza and took three big bites, as if he hadn’t eaten for hours. “Either way, it hasn’t killed me yet.”

Between bites, Bucky said, “Non-toxic. Totally safe.” He eyed the textbooks across the landing. “You and your homework having a fight?”

Steve groaned and glared at the textbooks. “Fuckin’ math. Doesn’t make any fucking sense,” he complained through a full mouth. “The teacher’s shit, too. ‘Keep taking notes. You’ll have time to catch up later.’ Shit like that.”’

Bucky had tested into 300 level math his first year, but he knew the kind of survey lecture class Steve was talking about. Comprehension never seemed like the goal, just getting through the material. “What are you learning?”

“Nothing.” Steve ripped a piece off the crust, then jabbed the rest in the direction of the books. “I got the class low score on the first fucking quiz.”

Bucky got up to retrieve the books, checking the titles as he did so. It looked like Steve was taking the whole package of basics — everything from math to Psych 101. It was the sort of mind-numbing curriculum that could kill any student’s spirit. No personal attention from the teachers, rote memorization, group projects meant to make grading easy rather than teaching anything useful. Bucky hoped to God Steve had a good art teacher, at least.

“Jesus, Steve. This stuff’ll kill you, taking it all at once.”

Steve let out a snort of disgust and finished off the pizza crust. “No shit. I should’ve listened to Aunt Vera. She said, spread it out. I wanted to get it all done with.”

“Your aunt sounds like a smart lady. If you aren’t taking at least a few classes you want to take, it’s hard to want to stick with it at all.” Bucky picked up the math book. “When’s the next quiz?”

Steve’s shoulders slumped. “Monday, psych. And Tuesday, math, because my life is fuckin’ cursed or something.”

That was three days until the first one, and four until the one he was worried about. That was doable. “Oh, but that works out. You can take a break from studying for one by looking over your notes for the other.”

“That’s a fucking _break?_ ” Steve asked with a disbelieving laugh. He picked up the next slice in the stack and waved it at Bucky. “You need to learn how to have fun, dude.”

Bucky blinked, then realized he sounded like a complete nerd. “Oh. Ah, I get kinda... focused, I guess.” Obsessed was the word, but he was trying to sound at least slightly normal. Not that it was possible at this point. “And yeah, fun is relative.”

“Hey, if you enjoy it, more power to you,” Steve said dryly. “I’m on a fuckin’ art scholarship. What do I need all this shit for?”

An art scholarship. Well, that shouldn’t have been surprising. “Dunno. But I had to take English Lit while double majoring in the sciences, so we all have our kryptonite.”

“See, _that_ I could sorta do. I accidentally got good at English, helping Nat. But math?” Steve shook his head in disgust, then narrowed his eyes and shot Bucky a sly look. “Hey. Think I can pay your sister to take my quiz for me?”

Bucky smiled at the fact that V could probably ace it, but he shook his head. “Too long a train ride for a ten-year-old. I’ll help you study if you want, though.”

Steve blinked at him in surprise. “What? No, you got enough of your own work to do. Hell, you’re in all advanced classes, aren’t you?”

It didn’t sound like an accusation, coming from Steve’s mouth, which was depressingly novel. “It’ll be a good study break. Besides, if you remind me to eat while we work, you’ll be doing me a favor.”

“Hell, if that’s all you need, I’ll give Aunt Vera your phone number. She’s got a memory like a fucking computer.” Steve grinned. “Or I could just sic Nat on you.”

Everyone but the person Bucky wanted to hear from regularly. He closed his eyes in a slow blink, trying not to be disappointed. “That’s all right. It just sounded like a fair trade to me...”

“No,” Steve said quickly. “I mean — If you’re sure you don’t mind... I really could use the help.”

Bucky grinned. “And I could use the reminder. So, it’s a deal?”

“Am I gonna get in trouble for sketching while I study?”

Bucky tilted his head to the side and looked closely at Steve as he answered with a question. “Does it help you concentrate?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Not music or anything — just drawing.”

“So, if I talked you through the ideas while you were drawing, that would help you understand it better?”

Steve blinked. “I... guess, yeah?” he ventured. “Maybe? Hell, just knowing you can understand that crap will help.”

“Okay.” Bucky bit his lip in thought. This could work. He could talk about this stuff in his sleep. Probably did. So he could work on the assembly of his project and talk Steve through math problems at the same time. “Not here, though. Study sessions happen on my couch.”

“You sure I won’t be in the way?”

“Not as long as you don’t mind the smell of solder.” Bucky grinned.

“Toxic fumes are nothing new,” Steve said, his grin appearing. “I’ve had Natasha’s cooking, and that didn’t kill me. Do your worst.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Friday, September 27, 2013**

Steve sat sideways on the couch, textbook balanced against the far arm, new sketchpad on one knee. He was supposed to be drawing a still life and had chosen Bucky’s soldering station, but he’d accidentally included Bucky’s hand and forearm. His very nice, very muscular forearm. And because Steve was a realist in his art, he’d drawn every contour, freckle, and soft hair that he was never going to actually touch. He smudged his pencil strokes with a light touch of his thumb and imagined actually touching — then told himself to stop.

“You _sure_ math teachers aren’t drunk?” Steve asked, casting an uninterested glance at his textbook. Once he’d grasped the basics of algebra, he’d done okay — with Bucky’s help — but polynomials just looked like really bad font alignment. X-Y-Z variables _and_ superscripted numbers for ‘powers of’ or ‘raise to the’ felt like overkill.

“Most mathematicians I know are very ‘work hard, play hard,’ but the equations work, Steve. And they’re written like that for a reason.” Bucky set his soldering iron in its coil stand and wiped his hands on a towel as he moved to lean over Steve to look at the textbook. “Here look —”

Bucky cut off and turned, tensing warily. Steve looked up just as the door swung open revealing Natasha in her leather chaps over jeans and her heavier leather jacket.

“Your locks are pretty lousy,” Nat criticized loudly, leaning sideways against the doorjamb.

Bucky quickly straightened up from leaning over Steve’s lap and let out an amused huff of breath. “Hey, Nat. You know, there’s this cool thing called knocking...?”

“That’s so nineties,” she dismissed, sauntering in. She smiled, eyes sparkling, and said, “I hear you’ve kidnapped Steve.”

“Fucking hell, Nat,” Steve complained, getting off the couch — dumping the textbook on the way. “He’s helping me study.”

“Spankings for every failure?” she shot at Bucky as she passed by him, making his brow furrow in unfairly adorable confusion.

“Don’t help,” Steve said, grateful that Bucky was too innocent to catch Nat’s point, at least right away. He pulled Nat close for a tight hug and muttered, “You’re a day early.”

“I missed you. My little scholar,” she said, ducking to give him a slow, thorough kiss. He groped her ass because — well, because he was breathing, actually. Then she pulled free and turned, going right for Bucky. He put his arms around her as he allowed her to mold herself against his body, and his eyes went wide but his grin was genuine. “Hey, Bucky,” she said almost too softly for Steve to hear as she lifted her face and rose up on her toes. Steve saw his momentary hesitation before he allowed a much more brief and relatively chaste kiss, though he held her against himself until she settled back on her heels.

“Like I said, You’re a day early, Nat,” Steve said, trying to ignore the twinge of jealousy — not at Bucky kissing Nat, but the reverse.

“I miss you. And Aunt Vera misses you.” She slung an arm around Steve’s shoulders and dragged him down onto the couch.

“Ugh. And wants you to check up on me,” Steve complained, recognizing the symptoms. He and Aunt Vera were the last of the Rogers family — at least _this_ branch — and she tended to worry.

“Yeah, well...” Natasha shrugged, slouching against Steve. “How are your grades?”

Steve grinned over at Bucky who grinned back while biting his lower lip, his eyebrows raised high. “Tell her about the quizzes,” Bucky said.

“Quizzes?” Nat asked.

“I aced my last four, ’cause of Bucky,” Steve said proud.

“Really?” She grinned and reached out with one foot to kick Bucky’s shin. “I knew you were more than just a pretty face and a nice ass.”

Bucky tried to pout, but a grin kept getting in the way. He sat down on his stool facing them. “Steve studied hard. I just kinda talked him through it.”

“Like —”

“Yeah,” Steve cut in, feeling a blush heat his face. He did _not_ need Nat bringing up studying at the kitchen table with Aunt Vera. He looked over at Bucky and added, more quietly, “It’s been really helpful. Hell, I probably would’ve flunked out by now, if not.”

“Not your art class. The amount you draw when we study has got to be giving you a 4.0 in that class.” Bucky’s smile was soft, setting off butterflies in Steve’s gut.

“Good.” Nat turned so she could kiss Steve’s jaw, though she kept talking to Bucky. “He promised no matter how interesting his other classes were, he wouldn’t stop drawing.”

“Fuck, Nat. Those classes couldn’t be more _boring_ ,” Steve muttered.

“Mmm, your tutor, then,” she said, giving Bucky a sly smile.

Bucky raised his hand to his face and touched his cheek, looking like he was trying not to blush at Nat’s interest, but of course he failed. “I’m really not that interesting. Steve can tell you.”

Steve opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again before he could say something stupid. He tended to let things slip around Bucky, but Nat knew Steve too well. One _hint_ , and she’d pounce more than she already had.

“You make _math_ interesting,” Steve said a second later. “Not many people can do that.”

“Not without taking off clothes,” Nat said.

Steve elbowed her.

She shot him an innocent look. “You know. Shoes. To help with counting.”

Bucky covered his chuckle with his hand and rolled his eyes. “So what are you two up to tonight?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t —”

“Three,” Nat interrupted. “We three are going to celebrate Steve’s good grades.”

“Nat...”

She turned and gave Steve a pleased grin. “ _And_ the first session with our koi-dragon-loving-redhead,” she said, taking a bank deposit envelope out of her jacket pocket. She smacked it against Steve’s chest. “Come on. If there’s not a decent burger place in town, we’ll try arson. Could be fun.”

“Hard to believe, but the best burgers in town are at Burger Barn. Good milkshakes, too.” Bucky said, thoughtfully.

“Aww, milkshakes,” Nat said with a sharklike smile. “Sounds perfect. But... Bucky?”

Bucky’s eyes had gone unfocused to the window, but he dragged them back to her face and smiled. “Yes, Nat?”

“You’re not wearing those jeans, are you?” She twitched a finger towards the closet, saying, “Why don’t you change real quick?”

Bucky looked down at his lap then back up at both of them, chewing his lip. He stood up and started unbuckling his belt as he walked to his closet. He called to her from behind the curtain as they heard him rifle through his clothes, “It’s a legit _barn_ , Nat. Even in that you’re overdressed.”

“I can leave my jeans here,” Nat offered. “I’ve got my chaps.”

Steve choked back a laugh. “It’s almost October. You’ll catch cold.”

“I’ll leave my boots on.”

“I’m just saying” — Bucky peeked his head out from the closet, and it was obvious he was shirtless — “I’m not getting dressed up over here.”

“Come on out. I’ll critique your style,” Nat invited, then broke out laughing when Steve elbowed her again. “What? I’m helping.”

“Nat, you could give _me_ a fucking heart attack, and I’ve known you for like fifteen years,” Steve whispered at her. “Ease up.”

She leaned in to put her lips close to his ear, softly answering, “He’s stronger than you think.”

Steve sighed but let that pass. Bucky was a really, really good friend, but that was all. And he _definitely_ wasn’t ready for Natasha unleashed. How the hell was Steve going to manage to keep them both apart through dinner?

Bucky came out from the closet in a darker pair of jeans that fit him very well and a well-cut plaid flannel shirt that he’d tucked in. He was rolling up the sleeves to his elbows and looking from one to the other of them as he spoke. “How’s this?”

“Turn around,” Nat said.

“It’s” — Steve faltered, because it was boring and plain, and God he wanted to see Bucky in something ripped and too-tight — “nice.”

Insistently, Nat made a twirling motion with her finger. “Now, Bucky.”

Bucky put his hands up in defense and did a slow 360 turn, his face blank, his eyebrows up. Nat applauded. Steve hid his face against her shoulder — though not before he indulged in a long, detailed look.

 

~~~

 

Burger Barn was thematic, with straw scattered over the wood floor and rustic picnic tables with benches instead of proper chairs. Bucky ended up with his back to the restaurant and Steve beside him. Natasha slouched against the wall and crossed her boots on the bench next to Bucky’s hip, forcing him to scrunch close to Steve. Not that he minded.

She didn’t even move her feet when the waiter showed up at their table with a tray of three shot glasses. “Only one for the night,” she told Bucky.

Bucky didn't drink much at all, and he knew he was a lightweight, so he nodded and planned to hold her to that. Especially because he was already going to feel the straight liquor on an empty stomach. He didn't want to be any more impaired than that around these two.

“Good, ’cause I wanna be ready when the fighting starts.” He glanced over at Steve who looked relaxed and happy in a way he rarely was at school — except, Bucky realized, when Steve was on the couch that had become his. Maybe he wouldn’t feel the need to start anything tonight. When Bucky looked over at Nat her face was all smirk, and he remembered where the danger lay. “Or is it fire tonight?”

“We’re celebrating,” Steve said, laughing under his breath.

Natasha lifted her shot glass. “Exactly. Why can’t I have both?”

Bucky lifted his own glass, noticing the return of her sharklike smile, and wondered if she was talking about something else. It was hard to keep up with her. And he was sure if Steve joined in, it would be twice as hard to keep up with both of them. He was almost positive it would be worth it to try, though.

“Is that what we’re toasting, then?” Bucky looked from one to the other with his glass held high.

 _“Da,”_ she said, touching her glass to his. “To threesomes.”

Bucky almost dropped his glass in shock and couldn’t help looking over at Steve, who just groaned and said, “Nat. Really?”

“One at a time works, too,” she said in an innocent tone of voice. Then she kicked at the bench and burst out laughing. “Come on, guys. Relax. It’s not like we’re doing anything here.”

Bucky tried to cover his embarrassment — and his unexpected and disconcerting interest — by taking the shot of vodka, but it hit the back of his throat hard and made him cough on the way down. So much for keeping up with these two. He was already in way over his head. Nat wasn’t joking, and Steve barely batted an eyelash at her. The last thing Bucky wanted to do was spend dinner wondering whether they’d ever shared someone before, and what the gender of that person had been. And yet, once his brain got caught on something, it was damned hard to get it off again.

“Eating. That’s what we’re doing here,” Bucky said, picking up the menu for a distraction.

“I like your focus. Good boy,” Nat said, poking at Bucky with her boots. She overturned her shot glass and shoved it to one side.

“Speaking of focus,” Steve said, leaning his shoulder against Bucky’s to push his own upside-down glass next to hers, “how’d the tat come out?”

She sat up enough to take a phone out of her pocket. After a couple of swipes, she spun it around and put it between them. “See for yourself.”

The picture was an outline of the koi-dragons Steve had been drawing, but instead of the partial sketches Bucky had seen, this one showed at least three — no, four of them, because they disappeared into the curves and whorls of the water. It was a brilliant optical illusion that would be that much more gorgeous when colored.

Steve swiped over to the next picture, which showed a partial tattoo that matched the drawing. Close-up, the detail work was incredible.

“Wow, Nat. It’s amazing.” Bucky smiled up at her, entranced.

“I am, aren’t I?” she asked sweetly.

Steve ignored them as he tapped his fingers on the table, muttering, “I overdid the face... tentacle things. I lost the whole thing with the foam.”

“It’ll be perfect when it’s colored,” Nat said soothingly.

“But the face-things are hard edges. The wave-foam is softer.”

“Steve.” Nat dropped one foot so she could lean over and touch Steve’s arm. “It’ll be _perfect_.”

Bucky reached for the phone, but instead of getting Steve to hand it over, he just covered Steve’s hand with his own and turned the screen so he could see better. He leaned in for a closer look at the tattoo and saw that there were edges of red all along the black lines. He wondered how much it had hurt and how long it would take to heal.

“When you drew it, you used shading to show that softness, though.” Bucky looked up at Nat. “I’m guessing there’s some way to do that with a tattoo gun?”

“Also true,” Nat said, giving Bucky an approving smile.

“Yeah, I guess,” Steve said, managing a smile of his own. “But I could do a couple of edits —”

“The client approved it,” Nat interrupted. “She _loved_ it.”

Bucky used his free hand to swipe back to the complete line drawing. It looked amazing even without anything filled in. He pressed his shoulder against Steve’s and squeezed his hand as he continued to look at the details of the water and scales. “It’s gorgeous, Steve. Besides, isn’t half the job of an artist knowing when to quit?”

Nat barked out a laugh, and Steve ducked his head with a sheepish grin. “Yeah, never been good at that shit,” Steve muttered.

“ _Someone_ at this table is a perfectionist,” Nat said affectionately.

Steve huffed out a breath. “Hey, a tattoo’s permanent. I mean, it’s not like you can just erase it and start over.”

Bucky grinned as he slowly pulled back to sit upright. It had been way too nice to touch Steve, but Bucky wasn’t going to indulge himself to the point of making Steve uncomfortable. “And the way I hear it, _everyone_ at this table’s a bit obsessed with getting the details just right.”

Nat grinned. “Mmm, I _demand_ perfection.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raised, and his grin got wider. “I bet you do,” he said as the waiter arrived to take their food orders, interrupting whatever Nat might have said in response.

Bucky was pretty sure he hadn’t imagined Steve’s sigh of relief, and it made him realize how narrowly he’d missed being skewered by her again.

 

~~~

 

The high of the night hadn’t faded by the time they finished dessert and settled the bill — Nat’s treat, which she’d threatened to arm wrestle Bucky for. Steve’s face ached from grinning so much. As they reached the parking lot, Nat put one arm around Bucky, the other around Steve. When he put his arm around her shoulder, his hand rubbed against Bucky’s side, and no one pulled away. It felt comfortably intimate. Cozy. Safe.

They walked together to Bucky’s car, where Nat pulled away to lean against the door with an inviting grin. “Think I can leave you two boys to finish the rest of the night yourselves?”

“You’re leaving already?” Steve asked thoughtlessly, before her innuendo fully hit. They’d been coming hard and fast all night, and he was almost immune by now.

“I can stick around, but that means sleeping in somebody’s dorm room. Wouldn’t want to get anyone in trouble with an RA or something.”

Bucky squinted and pulled his lips to the side in apology. “My room’s right next door to my RA. He hasn’t noticed Steve yet, but he’d definitely notice you.”

“Are you saying I stand out?” Nat asked flirtatiously. “You say the sweetest things.”

Steve snorted. “The piercings and hair are her way of being subtle,” he stage-whispered to Bucky.

Bucky grinned at them both. “It’s an all boys’ floor, Nat. But yes, you stand out in every way.” He squinted again the moment he finished speaking.

She smiled, pleased, and crooked a finger at Bucky. “Then come say goodnight like a good boy.”

Eyes flicking to Steve in what might have been apology, Bucky stepped stiffly up to Nat, but once there, he slid his arms comfortably around her waist. She wrapped her hands around his shoulders and looked up into his eyes. As she pulled Bucky down for a sweet, slow kiss, Steve leaned against the side of the car, watching. God, he was glad that they got along. If _he_ couldn’t have Bucky, at least he could have this. Hell, maybe it would turn into something more. Nat deserved someone good in her life.

After the kiss ended, Nat turned right into Steve’s arms. He tried not to imagine that the kiss tasted of Bucky and instead enjoyed everything she did, but when he pulled back and opened his eyes, he saw Bucky watching them intently. The sight of his wide eyes spiked right through Steve, and he pushed Nat back against the car without thinking.

This time, there was nothing sweet or friendly about their kiss. He got his hands in her hair and one leg between hers, and she pushed her hips right against his, making him groan before thinking how embarrassing it was in front of Bucky.

When he finally had to pull back — because he was _not_ going to hint that the three of them should get into the backseat of Bucky’s car — he avoided Bucky’s eyes and tried to get himself under control.

“Well,” Nat purred breathily. Steve looked up in time to see her staring at Bucky, open challenge in her eyes.

Bucky’s shoe scuffed against the ground, and Steve could hear him let out a deep breath. He put his hand on Nat’s shoulder and leaned in to kiss her temple. “Thanks for dinner, darlin’.”

“You can wrestle me for the check next time, babe,” she invited. She smacked Steve’s hip, pushing him to the side — towards Bucky — and said, “Take good care of him, Bucky.”

Steve sighed. “Fuck off,” he muttered.

She turned at the back bumper and shot them both an innocent smile. “All I meant is drive safe.”

Bucky’s grin was in his voice as he replied. “Yes, ma’am.”

As Nat sauntered away, Steve turned back to Bucky with a little flutter of anxiety. “Hey, I’m — I’m sorry she’s...” He laughed, looking down at his scuffed boots. “She’s Nat.”

Bucky patted Steve’s shoulder, grin wide as he opened his car door. “Yeah. I figured out that much last time. She might be the only person I’ve kissed the night I met them.”

Steve hid a wince. “Well, you’ll never forget her,” he said with a laugh that he hoped wasn’t too pathetic.

“No, probably not. But why would I want to? She’s your best friend.”

“One of ’em, yeah.” It slipped out, but Steve didn’t regret it. Not really. In just a couple of weeks, Bucky had become incredibly important, even if it wasn’t in the way Steve might have hoped. He sat down in the passenger seat, only then thinking it felt kind of date-like, with Bucky holding the door for him. Before Bucky could get uncomfortable, Steve poked him in the chest and said, “Come on. If we hurry, there’s probably still good parking back at the dorm. Otherwise, you’ll be stuck like a mile away.”

“Good call.” Bucky grinned as he closed the door. He walked around the front of the car, flashing Steve a smile through the windshield, and climbed in. He looked over at Steve before he put the key in the ignition and said, “Roof?”

“Yeah. Okay,” Steve said, more than happy to keep hanging out with Bucky without the excuse of studying more fucking math. Before he could say anything, Steve put on his seatbelt. “She really likes you, you know. I can’t remember the last time she was good with anyone hanging with us.”

One side of Bucky’s mouth pulled up into a smile. “Well good, ’cause the feeling’s mutual. I think. Maybe not if she actually wants much more than kissing, but yeah.” He was looking down at his hand on the car key, not turning it.

 _Shit,_ Steve thought tensely. “She’s just — All you gotta do is say no or tell her to back off or something. She — _fuck_ — she thinks you like her, cause of you and me.”

Bucky frowned. “I _do_ like her. I just don’t want to...” He looked up at Steve for just a second before he finally turned the key in the ignition and started the car, waiting till the initial engine sound died down to say, “What about you and me?”

For an instant, Steve thought Bucky was asking for — well, for something more. Then he realized what Bucky was actually asking. “She’s just surprised that we’re friends. I don’t...” He glanced out the side window. “I don’t make friends real easy.”

A brush of something against his upper arm had Steve turning his head in time to see Bucky pulling his hand away, his eyes focused on the part of Steve’s triceps that tingled from the contact. “Me neither. Not _good_ friends, like you. But I’m not trying to date Nat. I’m...” He shook his head and looked out the windshield, putting the car into gear.

 _Good friends._ It wasn’t exactly what Steve wanted to be, but he was damned lucky to have even that much. So he smiled and turned to face Bucky, both to be able to understand him better and to study Bucky’s profile. “Nat’s just looking for a good time. Believe me, she won’t be stalking you or following you home to meet your family — not unless they know how to cook. The three of us are pretty lousy at it.”

Bucky finally started to drive, so his eyes were occupied, and he could only glance over for a second at a time. “Three? You mean Aunt Vera?”

Steve grinned, thinking Aunt Vera would really like Bucky. “Yeah. She’s taken care of me and Nat for years. Taught us all sorts of stuff, except cooking. But she makes a mean vegetarian lasagna.”

“Oh. You just said the magic word.” Bucky’s eyes sparkled when he glanced over.

“In that case, she’ll adore you,” Steve said, deciding on the spot that he’d find a way to bring Bucky home — or maybe meet at a park or something. He couldn’t exactly picture Bucky in Aunt Vera’s kitchen. “Just to warn you, she’s got a thing for blue eyes, so don’t make eye-contact, or she might keep you.”

“What’s wrong... Aunt Vera? And who... she...?”

Steve hated to ask, but the rumble of the engine drowned out Bucky’s softening voice. “What?”

Thankfully, Bucky was too polite to exaggerate his words and shout. He just repeated, more loudly, “What’s wrong with being kept by Aunt Vera? And whose aunt is she? Nat’s?”

Steve shook his head, then pushed his hair back. It was getting unreasonably long. “Oh, fuck no. She’s my aunt. I moved in with her after my mom died. And we ended up taking in Nat after” — he hesitated, feeling a spike of fear that Bucky wouldn’t like Nat anymore, but Bucky was pretty open-minded — “after her dad ended up in prison.”

Bucky looked over with such a sad face that Steve almost wanted to comfort _him._ “Shit. Shit, Steve. I’m so sorry. For both of you. Jesus. How old were you?”

“Almost ten. It’s okay,” Steve said, feeling unreasonably guilty that he’d brought a shadow down on such a nice night. “Aunt Vera’s pretty awesome. She’s been everywhere — all over the world — doing all sorts of charity work and stuff. She was a nurse, like my mom, only out in the middle of nowhere. Third world countries, with things like Doctors Without Borders.”

“Oh, wow. She sounds awesome. I’d love to meet her. You know, sometime...”

“She won’t be back out here until Christmas break, if that. The old van won’t make too many trips out here — not unless Nat finds a mechanic Aunt Vera can trust.” Steve turned to face Bucky as much as his seatbelt would allow. “It’s one of those old VW Microbuses from the sixties. And yeah, Aunt Vera grew up a hippie.”

Bucky’s smile was back and widening. “And a feminist? Because if so, she and my mom should hang out.”

Steve gave a theatrical shudder. “Don’t bring up the P-word around her.”

Bucky mouthed ‘P-word’ and made a ‘puh’ sound a couple times before asking, “Patriarchy?”

Steve blinked at him. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Like I said, a feminist mom. She raised three daughters. It was the topic of conversation _a lot_ in my house.” Bucky flashed a grin at him.

“Nat can teach them all sorts of nasty self-defense tricks,” Steve offered, pushing his hair back out of his eye again. He let out a huff and flipped the visor down, thinking... Yeah, the car was nice enough that it had a lighted mirror in the visor. He needed a good inch off the right side, and a fresh buzz on the left. “You know how to cut hair?”

Bucky shot him a surprised look. “Uh, I’ve given V a trim before, back when her hair was long enough that it was really easy — straight along the bottom. I dunno about yours...”

“I just need help shaving the side and cutting the part that’s in my eyes.” Steve grinned as he pushed the visor back up. “You wouldn’t want me to fail class ’cause I can’t see, would you?”

Bucky pulled his lips all the way to one side, but it didn’t stop them grinning. “No, I can’t have _that_ of all things be your downfall. We’ll have to do something about it, clearly.”

Steve grinned. “And if you screw up, I can just shave it down to a mohawk. I haven’t done that for a couple years. So no worries.”

Bucky laughed as he pulled into the dorm parking lot. “Oh, man. I bet that looks awesome. Careful, I might just screw up on purpose.” He looked over with a mischievous grin and winked at Steve. Actually winked.

It was too fucking adorable for words. Steve laughed and turned before Bucky could catch him blushing. Two months ago, Steve would’ve sooner eaten Nat’s cooking before admitting to liking anything that could be called ‘adorable’. Apparently, college did change people after all.

 

~~~

 

This might have been a bad idea. Bucky was almost certain that handing him a set of clippers and a pair of scissors was not the smartest thing Steve could have done. Bucky really didn’t know what he was doing when it came to short hair. But he had to admit to himself that having an excuse to be this close to Steve and to touch his head was really nice. The fall of bangs over his eyes had been a preoccupation of Bucky’s for some time, and running his fingers through it in preparation to snip a little off felt unreasonably good.

And it helped that for some reason Steve seemed to have confidence in him that he could do what had been asked of him. It wasn’t rocket science, after all. And he at least knew how to wield clippers without injury.

That was where they started, with buzzing the short left side of Steve’s hair. They posted up in the bathroom on Bucky’s floor, taking over one of the three sinks in front of the wall-o-mirror.

“Just go against the grain or whatever,” Steve said, hopping onto the edge of the sink. He was so lightweight, the sink didn’t even creak. “What do you think of blue?”

“Blue? As a hair color?” Bucky had to stand so one hip was against the ceramic to reach Steve’s head with the clippers, which meant he had to try to keep the other one from brushing Steve’s knee. It was trickier than it should have been. Maybe just because he kept forgetting he should keep his distance. “I told you, blue’s my favorite. But doesn’t it fade quickly to something sort of like turquoise?”

“Yeah, but blond is boring. I mean, Nat’s stuck going darker. Last time she tried to bleach, her hair turned to straw.” Steve turned, eyeing himself critically in the mirror. “I can do any color.”

“Bring your head back over here so I can finish this.” Bucky decided for the umpteenth time in five minutes that it was a good thing he was working with a guard on the razor, because otherwise he would have nicked Steve’s ear when he turned. As it was, he kept almost catching the earring that went through the top of Steve’s ear.

“Purple?” Steve asked, stubbornly not turning. Instead, he leaned in close and tugged on his bangs. The harsh light of the bathroom caught the back of Steve’s head, and the angle he was turned at made something behind his ear draw Bucky’s eye.

Without thinking, Bucky reached out and took hold of Steve’s earlobe to bend it forward. A small flag was tattooed behind it, so small that the starry field was just a blue square. A faded yellow ribbon was crossed behind it. The lines were sort of fuzzy, as if it were an old tattoo, or maybe it hadn’t been done particularly well. It was such a stark contrast to the picture of the tattoo he’d seen at dinner. Bucky wasn’t sure he should ask what the significance was, but Steve had frozen still for him to look and didn’t seem embarrassed by it.

Bucky rubbed the pad of his thumb over the inked skin stretched over Steve’s skull. “You don’t seem the patriotic type.”

Steve shot Bucky a slight frown. “Mom was Army before me. So was my dad, she said.”

Bucky almost asked if that meant Steve hadn’t known his dad, but a guy’s father wasn’t something to just start prodding him about in the middle of a haircut. Not that talking about a dead mother was any better.

“In memoriam?” Bucky spoke softly — but near Steve’s ear — out of respect as he smoothed the longer strands of hair from the right side of Steve’s head out of his way.

Steve shrugged. “Nat wanted to do _something_. This was the first design I could come up with that wasn’t complicated. We were like... eleven.”

_Jesus._

What an oddly sweet gesture. All Bucky remembered getting when he was eleven was braces. “Wow. Yeah.” For a full minute, Bucky couldn’t think of anything more to say that didn’t sound stupid or invasive. Steve didn’t interrupt the silence, but Bucky didn’t think he was offended. When Bucky finally spoke up, he kept his voice quiet, just carrying over the sound of the razor. “Nat knew her?”

“Yeah, barely. Nat... Mom was an ER nurse. Sometimes I’d end up there after school. That’s where I met Nat. Mom kinda adopted her.” Steve got a faint smile. “But nothing like Aunt Vera. She adores Nat.”

The implication that Nat had ended up in the ER before she was ten, needing someone to adopt her, had Bucky reeling and his heart going out to her. He couldn’t imagine anything more awful. Or, he wouldn’t. Because that was bad enough. He’d focus on the thing that made Steve smile. “Sounds like a nice little family you’ve got, with those two ladies.”

Steve snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, so. Nat’s not exactly a ‘lady’, and calling Aunt Vera that would... well, get you a lecture on the p-word.”

Bucky smirked. “Fair. Should I call them womyn, with a ‘y’ then?”

“Nat would make fun of you in Russian. Aunt V would lecture you on proper grammar. It’s a no-win situation,” Steve warned gravely, though his eyes were sparkling in the mirror. “If you go that far down the rabbit hole, just run, first chance you get.”

Bucky’s smirk had grown into a full-on grin, and he had to stop running the clippers over Steve’s skull so he could chuckle without threat of injury. “Consider me warned.” He found himself looking critically at the buzzed part of Steve’s head and decided it was as done as it was gonna get. “Okay, now what?”

“Bangs,” Steve said, twisting on the sink so he could sit facing Bucky, knees spread. “Just enough so I can see. And you never said what you thought about blue.”

“Did too. It’s my favorite. I never said anything about purple. Which is also cool.” Bucky realized it would be really awkward to lean far over to cut, so he tentatively stepped between Steve’s knees to reach his bangs. He tried hard to ignore the brush of the inside of Steve’s thighs on his hips. It didn’t really work. “I’ll start only taking a little bit off, and you can tell me when to stop.”

“I’m not so good at that,” Steve said, closing his eyes.

Bucky stopped still just as he was about to start cutting the bangs, his fingers holding the hair flat, his face a foot from Steve’s, his breath gone. Did he really just say what Bucky thought he’d said? In the next moment, the inadvertent innuendo in what Bucky had said hit him almost as hard.

_Minefield._

He couldn’t bring himself to shift his focus from the hair to see if Steve was looking at him, so he just found his breath and went back to cutting maybe a quarter inch off. “Well, lemme know how that feels, then.”

Steve put up a hand to keep the cut hair out of his eyes and looked skeptically at Bucky. “I can barely feel anything. And I can see even less with my eyes closed. Besides, look at my fashion sense. Maybe you should just use your own judgement?”

“Whatever, you always look great. How about I cut to the bridge of your nose, and you can see if it’ll fall away out of your eyes? That’s like, half an inch more.”

When Steve dropped his hand, Bucky saw that his cheeks had gone dark. “Whatever,” Steve repeated, mumbling, as he closed his eyes. “I appreciate you doing this, no matter what it ends up —” He blinked his eyes open and gave Bucky a skeptical look. “Shouldn’t my hair be wet for this?”

Bucky paused again, second guessing himself. “I dunno. I kinda think it’s easier to cut dry so I know what it’s going to look like right away. If it was wet, it would look like it was longer, and I might cut it too short.”

“Makes sense.” Steve smiled and closed his eyes, relaxing again. “Get to it, Barnes.”

Bucky grinned and pressed in a little closer, feeling the pressure of Steve’s legs on his hips as he combed the bangs down to resume cutting. “Yes, sir.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Saturday, October 5, 2013**

A week later, Steve woke up to a _thump_ and a _buzz_ that he heard only because he’d rolled onto his left side, leaving his good right ear uncovered. He cracked one eye open and saw a steely gray haze that he cleared with a couple of blinks. The crappy mini blinds over Bucky’s window were open just enough to show clouds and rain, and the sight would have been enough to push Steve back into sleep, if not for the buzzing.

_The fuck?_

He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face, and sat up. By now, he’d spent so many nights on Bucky’s couch that he didn’t even flinch, much less pointlessly duck as if afraid he’d hit his head. The loft bed was too low for Bucky, but just the perfect height for Steve — a fact that never failed to draw a scowl. For years, Aunt Vera had been promising Steve would hit a growth spurt, but he was fucking twenty-one already. It was like he was doomed to be five-foot-crap for the rest of his life.

A third buzz finally worked through his brain, and he realized it was Bucky’s phone. He must have left it on the edge of his workbench, and it had vibrated its way off. Steve kicked away the blanket, picked up the phone, and got up off the couch.

Bucky was still dead asleep after they’d been up most of the night, talking. Steve rested an arm on the edge of the bed and nearly handed over the phone, but Bucky was so... peaceful.

Translation: gorgeous.

Steve couldn’t help but stare for just a few seconds, creepy as it was. In just a few weeks, Bucky had become his best friend, ranked up there in his life right next to Nat. Not that Steve had any chance with Bucky, the way he did — the way they _both_ did — with Nat. Fuck, Steve would take even that much, sharing Nat with him, even if they never directly touched.

_Stop!_

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve made himself say as he poked Bucky’s arm with the phone. “Someone wants you. Real bad,” he added as the phone buzzed insistently again.

Bucky startled and opened his eyes, blinking profusely. He furrowed his brow at Steve as he took a deep breath. On the exhale, he said, “You want what now?”

“You. Phone,” Steve said, only slightly more coherent than Bucky. Still trying to banish the images of a threesome with Nat and Bucky from his mind, Steve pushed the phone into Bucky’s hand and said, “Bathroom.”

Bucky propped himself up on one elbow and grunted. He unlocked his phone and peered at it as Steve watched, making sure he wasn’t going to drop it. When everything seemed secure, Steve went to get his toothbrush, shampoo, and towel off the shelf by Bucky’s door — he slept on Bucky’s couch most nights, so there was no sense in keeping his stuff upstairs. Feeling self-conscious about walking around in his boxers and last night’s T-shirt, he stole Bucky’s bathrobe and made his way to the bathroom down the hall.

A cold shower would help wake him up — and remind him that a threesome was _not_ anywhere in his near future.

 

~~~

 

_I’m awake and you’re not here._

_You do remember what date it is, don’t you?_

_Mom’s gonna kill you._

_I’m gonna eat all your pancakes._

_If you’re on the road, ignore this because you’re driving._

_I’m still gonna eat all your pancakes._

Bucky felt his face flush as he read the texts from V.

_Shit._

He texted back: _On my way._

Then he flopped back down onto his pillow and stared at the ceiling. He’d planned on leaving for home right after dinner last night, but he hadn’t finished modding V’s present — a robotic dinosaur. Then he and Steve had been testing it, and they’d taken forever wrapping it, and by the time they were done, it was late enough that Bucky would have killed himself driving into the Bay for real if he’d tried to leave. At some point in the wee hours of the morning, he remembered Steve throwing his jeans at the bed, yelling at Bucky to ‘go the fuck to sleep already’.

And he still hadn’t asked Steve if he wanted to come home with him for V’s birthday to meet the family.

Jesus, that was a horrible idea. But the thought of being gone all weekend was also a horrible one, to an extent that Bucky didn’t want to examine. Hence being too late for day-before-birthday pancakes.

He finally dragged himself up into a sitting position. The bathrobe was gone from the back of the door, which meant Steve had gone down to the communal bathroom. He’d walk around in the privacy of the room in his underwear and a T-shirt and even change behind the closet curtain, but he wouldn’t go out into the hall without covering up. Bucky wasn’t really sure what that meant, but he took it as a compliment.

He climbed out of his bed and dropped to the floor, heading straight for the closet to throw a change of clothes into his gym bag and find something to put on his body. And to search around for the courage to ask his best friend to come home with him.

It wouldn’t be so bad if there was no chance of it being misinterpreted as something more. But his family was overly-accepting, and he was sure there would be awkward questions. Not to mention whatever Steve would think.

Bucky had struggled out of his PJ’s, had his T-shirt over his head, and was trying to remember where his pants were when he heard the door open. A moment later, a soaking wet Steve walked in, swathed in Bucky’s bathrobe, a towel draped over his head. He shrugged out of the robe, revealing boxers and a T-shirt clinging to his wet skin.

“You’re alive,” he mumbled, dropping his toothbrush and shampoo on the toiletries shelf before he headed for the couch. “Why are you standing? It’s too fucking early.”

Bucky tried to tug his T-shirt down over his hips, but it did nothing to cover his briefs. He cast around for his jeans, but he didn’t want to turn all the way around to face Steve. “Are my jeans over there? Yours are on my bed.”

“Um.” Steve dropped the towel to his shoulders and bent over, rooting around under the remains of their first three attempts at wrapping the dinosaur-robot.

Bucky couldn’t help but stare at the bones pressed against his T-shirt — and at a dark shape on his ass, made visible because of how his wet boxers had turned translucent. _Another_ tattoo? He had a black widow on his ankle, but Bucky had seen that the first time Steve had taken off his socks.

God, Steve hadn’t been kidding about the tattoo on his ass. How many more did he have? And what would he have gotten _there?_

“Yeah, here,” Steve said, scattering bright wrapping paper everywhere. He shook out a pair of blue jeans and turned, offering them to Bucky with a grin that faded. “Wait, what? Are we actually staying awake? What the fuck?”

_Shit._

“Gotta drive home. It’s V’s birthday tomorrow.” Bucky chickened out and broke eye contact to step into his jeans.

“Oh. Yeah, I’ll —” Steve turned away to get his own jeans down off Bucky’s bed. “Sorry. I’ll get out of your way.”

“Wanna come?” Actually blurting the words out made Bucky feel stupid enough that he couldn’t think of any sort of explanation to blunt the awkwardness. He just felt his face flush as he sat down on the floor to pull on his socks.

“Really?” Steve paused in the act of pulling up his jeans and looked over his shoulder. “She won’t mind?”

“Who, V? Hell, no. She likes you.” Bucky bit down on his lip the moment that admission was out of his mouth. He was sure it was creepy to text your sibling about the boy you hang out with all the time, to the point of her giving him a nickname. He scrambled to cover. “Remember the water bottle?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Steve grinned and dropped his pants again, pointing to the closet. “Can I get in there? I didn’t exactly dry off. You might wanna brush your teeth at the coffee shop or something. The bathroom’s already crowded with idiots.”

Bucky moved out of Steve’s way, feeling a little too slow. “So, wait. You coming, then?”

“Well, yeah. Just not in wet underwear.” Steve opened the curtain enough to get into the closet, where he’d left a milk crate full of clean laundry after their last trip to the washing machines in the basement. Bucky tried not to look — and tried _to_ look — but he couldn’t catch a glimpse of the tattoo. Steve was damned good at hiding without being obvious about it.

“Okay, right.” He made himself turn away. “Okay.” He had to call his mom and let her know he was bringing someone.

_Shit._

That conversation had to happen in private, knowing his mother.

“Um, I’m gonna run down to the car. You can throw —”

“Hey, hang on.” Steve came out, wearing his jeans and his favorite Ramones T-shirt inside-out. He threw his underwear at the laundry basket. “That cake in the fridge is for her, right? We gotta bring that down. You grab the dinosaur. Or would you rather be the one blamed for falling down the stairs and faceplanting in the cake?”

Bucky gaped at him a second. “I’ll take the blame, regardless. Like father, like son.”

“Aw, fuck. Did your dad really...?” Steve shot him a grin and stepped barefoot into his unlaced boots. “Two trips. Cake, dinosaur, sketchpad — Hey, do you guys have a washer/dryer? Are you bringing home laundry? I can get my shit out.”

Bucky had completely forgotten that he could bring his laundry home and do it for free when he’d started packing, still half-awake and panicky about time. “Oh, yeah. Just grab the basket. We can do all our stuff at home.”

“I don’t wanna impose.”

The laundry basket wasn’t quite full. Bucky nodded at it and said, “That won’t even make one full load. It would be a favor to do yours with mine, so we don’t waste water. Mom would thank you.” He noticed Steve had his boots on and seized onto an opportunity. He grabbed the weirdly wrapped dinosaur and set it on top of their clothes in the basket, then picked the whole thing up and handed it to Steve. “Here. Take this down to the car. Then we can get our bags and the cake.”

Steve rested his chin on top of the dinosaur to keep it steady. “Get the cake and keys. And the door.” He wiggled the fingers that weren’t engaged in carrying the basket.

After hanging the ring of keys on Steve’s fingers, Bucky opened the door for him. “I gotta brush my teeth and... stuff. I’ll be right down.”

Steve gave him a _look_. “Coffee shop, dude. Just put your fucking shoes on and get the cake. Lazy shit.”

Bucky was near to panicking about getting a chance alone to call his mother, and it made his voice go sharp. “Just give me a fucking _minute,_ Steve!”

Steve backed up, looking wounded — though that disappeared a heartbeat later, replaced by a flat, neutral mask. “’Kay, sorry. Whatever,” he said in an exaggerated tone. He kicked the door to push it open even more and stomped for the stairway, where he had to hold the basket against his hip so he could open the emergency door.

As soon as Steve was gone, Bucky slumped down onto the couch and wiped his hands down his face, feeling on the verge of tears. He never cried anymore; he just had to deal with the stinging and choking sensations, which always made him feel worse than if he had cried. He hated himself for losing his temper with Steve, but everything about this situation had just gotten really nerve-wracking, and he hadn’t had a moment to himself to think it through.

 _And_ having Steve overhear a conversation with his mother was second in embarrassing situations only to actually having him meet her before she’d been briefed about how to address him, because she was the queen of jumping to the most awkward conclusions possible. He sniffed deeply and cleared his throat, then quickly got his phone out and called home.

Three voices answered at nearly the same time. Bucky’s mom’s was the softest; V’s, the loudest, overpowering whatever Rebecca asked with an insistent demand: _“Bucky!”_

“Um, hi, _everyone._ Happy birthday, V. How were pancakes?”

“ _More_ than enough,” Viola said over the _click_ of hang-ups. “Where _are_ you? You said you were leaving, only if you’re on the phone and driving, Mom’s gonna kill you. Twice.”

“I’m heading to the car right now. It took longer than expected, because Steve’s coming with me.”

Vi’s squeal was ear-shattering. Bucky winced and pulled the phone away for a few seconds, until she calmed down. He put it to his ear again in time to hear her saying, “... wait! Did you tell him about us? Is he staying the whole weekend? Will he be there for pizza tonight?”

Bucky realized there actually were a lot of things he should warn Steve about, and giving him an out — maybe offering to drop him off at Aunt Vera’s instead — was probably a good idea. “Ah, yeah. He’ll stay as long as I do, I guess, and he loves pizza. But can I talk to Mom first?”

“Yeah, okay. _Mom!_ ” she shrieked. _“Bucky wants to talk to you! Moooooom!”_

After a click, another voice came on the line — this one Bucky’s middle sister, Kimberly. “What, dork?”

“I said _Mom_ ,” V insisted. “You’re not even close, Stinkerly.”

“Mom’s _busy_. What do you want?”

“ _Bucky_ wants to talk to _Mom_.”

Kimberly huffed eloquently. “Yeah, well, _Bucky_ can text her or something.”

Bucky decided to cut this snarkfest short. “Yeah, okay, fine. I’m hanging up now, gals. See you in a few.”

“Oh, great. _You’re_ coming home,” Kimberly drawled.

“Shut up, _Stinker_ ,” V countered.

“Am I not invited for family birthdays anymore? ’Cause I’m happy to not shop for a present, come February...” Bucky was legendary in the family for being a good present-giver, and Kim was the hardest for their parents to buy for. Her taste in everything was too hip for them.

“I didn’t —”

Viola interrupted Kim’s protest, saying, “ _I’m_ inviting you to _my_ birthday. So get moving, or else.”

Bucky couldn’t keep the grin out of his voice. “Yes, ma’am. Steve, too?”

“Who’s —”

“Yeah,” Viola declared. “He doesn’t even have to bring an extra present. I’m _nice_ like that.”

“Who’s _Steve_?” Kimberly demanded.

“Nobody you’re gonna meet, Stinkerly. Bye, Bucky!”

“Bye, kiddos. See you when I see you.” Bucky hung up before Kim could ask any more questions.

He breathed a sigh of relief, then realized it would only get worse from here. Just thinking about having Steve meet his ridiculous family gave him butterflies. And he _still_ hadn’t properly briefed Mom.

_Shit._

How the hell had he thought this was a good idea?

 

~~~

 

Steve shoved everything into the back seat of Bucky’s car, slammed the door, then turned and sagged against it. Without his jacket, he was shivering in the rain, but he wasn’t about to go back inside so he could get yelled at some more. Hell, every instinct was screaming for him to go back to _his_ room and just let Bucky go alone, without another word.

And that was the problem.

Steve didn’t back down for anyone, no matter how big, no matter how many there were, period. Hell, he’d nearly gotten himself killed in tenth grade, when he’d stood up to the whole fucking football team in the locker room.

But he didn’t have it in him to yell at Bucky or even stand up to him. And anyway, this was all Steve’s fault. He’d been _so fucking excited_ at the thought of not having to spend the weekend alone, because he’d barely been alone for the last few weeks. Outside their separate class schedules, he and Bucky had spent every minute together. Steve could barely remember the last time he’d slept in his own bed instead of on Bucky’s couch.

Now, he’d probably wrecked all of that. And because he had no idea how to _fix_ it, he fell back on Plan B.

He’d barely put the phone to his good ear before he heard Natasha sleepily ask, “If you’re calling me for a threesome, you know I hate morning sex.”

“Would I do that?” Steve asked, closing his eyes. “I’m coming to Brooklyn. Maybe. I dunno.”

“Are you _sure_ you aren’t trying for a threesome? Have you even asked Doc about that?” Her voice was suddenly louder as if her mouth was closer to the phone.

“I am _not_ thinking about that,” he lied, because he’d been thinking about just that every night for... forever, or so it seemed. Even worse, sleeping on Bucky’s couch had completely killed any ability Steve had to _do something_ about those thoughts. It was one thing to have an unrequited crush on a guy; it was something else entirely to jack off thinking about said guy, while he was sleeping three feet overhead.

“Uh huh. Then why did you wake me?” The mouthpiece on her phone got muffled for a second, as if her chin brushed it. She must have put the phone between her head and the pillow. It always felt intimate when she did that, like they were in bed together.

“I dunno. Fuck, I dunno if I’m even gonna make it, at this rate.” Steve sighed, wishing he _were_ in bed with her. He’d give anything to just bury himself in her blankets and curl up against her and hide for the next week. “Nat...”

“Shit. What is it, _kotik_?” She finally sounded awake and listening.

Painfully aware that he sounded like he was twelve or something, he asked, “Do you think he likes me? Or is he just... I dunno, putting up with me?”

She sighed. “There's something there. Guys like that don’t just ‘put up with’ people like us. He’s a fucking sweetheart, but I don’t think it’s me he’s here for.”

“It’s sure as hell not _me_ ,” Steve muttered. “I mean, we were up half the fucking night, wrapping this robot dinosaur he got for his kid sister’s birthday. And this morning, sorta last-minute, he asks if I want to go with him.”

“To meet the _family?_ And you said _yes?_ Steve.”

“I know!” Steve kicked his heel back against the car and nearly jostled the boot off his foot. “And it was so fucking _obvious_ that he was just being polite and shit, but all I could think... _Fuck_.”

“I don’t think so, _kotik_.”

He took a deep breath, fighting against the growing pressure in his chest. “Still, how do I _know_ he wasn’t just being polite? Just... you know, obliged to be nice? I mean, fuck. Why would he want _me_ at his kid sister’s birthday? Unless it was to have an out, maybe to go hang out with you instead of a bunch of ten-year-olds...”

“Why would he want you _anywhere,_ if you’re asking? I’m not trying to sound harsh — just making a point. Do you ever sleep in your own bed? Does he _ever_ make you feel unwelcome?”

Petulantly, Steve pointed out, “I’m not sleeping in _his_ bed.”

“Yeah, but no one else is, either.” The pause after she finished speaking was loud. “Though if someone did, he might let you watch, since he never kicks you out...”

“Fuck off,” Steve snapped, though it came out with a quiet laugh. She had a point. A guy like Bucky could have anyone he wanted — hell, a new someone every night, if that was his thing. “But he’s not gay. Or bi. Or pan. Or _interested_. He doesn’t even look at me that way. And how many times has he kissed you?”

“Zero. I kiss him, and he lets me. And to be honest, he doesn’t look at me that way either. _Me,_ Steve.”

He blinked his eyes open and squinted against the rain. “Fucking hell, Nat. That’s it. Why the _fuck_ didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what? That you’ve fallen for the world’s most polite asexual?” Her voice somehow turned the word positively filthy.

“Fuck off,” he repeated, feeling _much_ better. He thought back to all their interactions with Bucky, and he couldn’t think of anything he’d done that might’ve made Bucky uncomfortable. Hell, Bucky had even put up with Nat’s special brand of friendliness. “I’m just glad I didn’t _actually_ hit on him.”

“Well, I guess there are worse things to be. I just can’t think of any...” Nat’s voice was mock-serious, and Steve knew that she wasn’t put off by the idea. Hell, she’d probably still hit on Bucky just as hard as before, ‘to make sure’ or something.

“Play nice, Nat,” Steve warned a little apprehensively. He didn’t want to get into it with his best friend, but he would, if she started any shit with Bucky, and she knew it. How often had she bandaged him up after he’d jumped to defend someone who wasn’t a norm?

“What? No harm in testing his boundaries...”

“Yeah, uh, no harm in _asking permission_ first.”

“When did you get so _boring?_ ” She sighed, but more in resignation than offense. “So, when do I get to see you?”

“If I fuck this up? In like two hours. Otherwise...” He pushed away from the wet car — taking off his boxers had been pointless after all — and started towards the dorm. “Maybe tonight? ’Cause if I don’t get laid in the next twenty-four hours, I might start killing people.”

“Oh, it’s like that, is it? The boy proves totally unavailable, and you suddenly want me again?” Her voice was sharp and seductive at the same time.

“Are _you_ getting any?” he asked as he finally got inside. Feet squelching in his boots, he started for the stairwell.

“I didn’t have plans for tonight, if that’s what you’re asking.” There was a hint of menace in her voice, as if it had better be what he meant.

Steve rolled his eyes at the non-answer. After two months mostly apart, he felt like he’d lost touch with her. “I’ll call you. And if I need rescuing, I don’t have my helmet, so bring a spare or something.”

“It’ll be fine. Just don’t die of boredom.” She made an exaggerated kissing sound into the phone, then hung up.

He felt a little better. This might still be a disaster in the making, but he had a confirmed out now. Nat wouldn’t make plans without warning him, so he wouldn’t have to go through the truly awful embarrassment of getting Aunt V to pick him up — and he wouldn’t have to deal with the Brooklyn public transportation system.

First things first, though. If he could apologize without putting his foot in his mouth, he might not need a contingency plan at all — though he’d probably still find a way to sneak out and spend a couple of private hours with Nat. He _really_ needed to take the edge off, especially since Bucky was even less of a possibility now.

 

~~~

 

Bucky was checking his pockets for the ninetieth time, about to walk out the door, when Steve came back into the room, looking even more like a drowned kitten than before. Which made Bucky want to wrap him in a big fluffy towel and snuggle him into bed. And then the guilt of yelling at him kicked in, and Bucky balked at even saying anything, words catching in his throat. He tossed Steve a clean towel and put his hands in his pockets. Then he just stood there, worrying his lip and trying to come up with some explanation for his short temper earlier.

Steve threw the towel over his head and started ruffling it through his hair. As he did, he mumbled, “Hey, uh... Sorry if I got pushy before. Or, you know, ever. Nat, too.”

What the hell did Nat have to do with this? And it was Bucky who should be apologizing. The confusion had him searching for words again, but this time he finally found some. “No, totally my fault. I had no right to yell. I’m sorry, I just...”

“No, it’s cool,” Steve said, dropping the towel to his shoulders. He grinned and kept drying off, twisting the T-shirt with his brisk movements. “I mean, it’s a thing with her and me. How we are. But it’s just us. Just say ‘fuck off’ or whatever if it’s too much, okay?”

Bucky was more than a little lost. _Just us?_ Was Steve saying that he and Nat didn’t want Bucky... no. They’d both been really inclusive of him, which he appreciated to no end. But then, Bucky had no idea where this was coming from or why it was being addressed now. He thought he’d already made it clear that he was fine with the way Steve and Nat were together, and the way Nat was with _him_ was oddly welcome, as long as it didn’t go any further. He just wished he could say that he wanted Steve to be like that with him as well.

“Okay? Um, did you want to see her while we’re home or something?”

“Only if we’re outnumbered by kids. Is this a family party or an invite-the-whole-fucking-grade-over thing?” Steve’s grin brightened. He looked down as if considering drying off his jeans, but then he threw the towel over his shoulder instead. “It’s raining out, too.”

Bucky went to the closet to grab both of their jackets, then grinned at Steve while handing his over. “Why the fuck did you stand out in it for so long, then? Did you think I was gonna bite or something?”

“I grew up with Nat, asshole. For like ten years, I thought _everyone_ bites,” Steve teased. He dropped the towel long enough to put on his leather jacket, then picked up the towel again. “We’ll use this to cover the cake box.”

Bucky shook his head to get the image of Nat’s mouth on Steve’s skin out of his mind, then threw his backpack on and picked up the cake box. “Good idea. And to answer your question, it’s just a family thing, because V doesn’t have many friends outside of us. She doesn’t really get along with kids. But she’s excited you’re coming.” He grinned at Steve, relieved that any hurt feelings from earlier seemed to have been forgiven.

Steve went to the closet and took out a couple of shirts, another pair of jeans, and socks. He crammed everything into one part of his satchel, then put his sketchbook and pencil case carefully in the other pocket. “Is, uh, anyone gonna freak out over me?”

Bucky took a deep breath to bide some time before he had to start explaining his family. “Um, maybe? But not in a bad way. V will try to practically climb in your lap for attention, and my mom, well...” He tried to chuckle, but it came out more like a cough. “She gets very enthusiastic when any of us bring home friends. I’ll try to rein her in, but, yeah.”

“Okay. No problem,” Steve said, his smile turning warm. He ducked his head under the satchel’s strap and asked, “You want me to carry anything else?”

“I got it. Just grab the door? And you have the keys?”

“Got ’em.” Steve spun the keys on one finger, held the door for Bucky, then closed and locked it.

Bucky had a moment of everything feeling oddly right for a second as they left his room and headed down the stairs, and it made him dizzy-happy. He tried not to jinx it by thinking too hard about the fact that Steve was allowing Bucky to take him home to the family. Best to just act like it wasn’t a big deal. Because, of course, Steve didn’t think it was, or he wouldn’t have said yes. _Stop overthinking, Barnes!_

When they reached the ground floor, Steve again held the door for Bucky. As they approached the exit, Steve said, “Oh. Hey, uh... One thing,”

 _Oh, shit._ _You totally jinxed it._

“Hm?” Bucky didn’t trust his voice to not betray how hard his heart had just started pounding. Steve pushed open the door and headed out into the rain. Bucky couldn’t see his face.

Once they were outside, Steve said, “We’re stopping for coffee. ’Cause if we’re not stopping for coffee, I’m gonna have to kill someone, and, well, you’re in arm’s reach...”

The relieved laugh that emitted from Bucky was possibly bordering on offensive, if Steve took it wrong, but there was nothing for it. If Bucky’s hands had been free he would have ruffled Steve’s hair, and that would have been worse.

“No murder. Ravens, not crows, remember?” He winked at Steve as he approached the passenger’s side of the car. “You drive first, then.”

“Do I look like a fucking chauffeur?” Steve asked, using the remote to unlock the doors. Then he deliberately pushed ahead of Bucky, adding, “Here, lemme get that for you, princess.”

Bucky couldn’t hold back the grin — or the blush — that spread across his face at having Steve hold the door open for him. “Look, someone’s gotta hold the cake in their lap. I won’t trust you to until you’ve had caffeine.”

“Shouldn’t trust me after, either,” Steve warned as Bucky got into the car. Leaning down, Steve stage-whispered, “All that icing. Goes perfect with coffee.”

Bucky tried not to giggle as he reprimanded Steve. “Hands off, asshole. The icing’s the important part. And get in the damned car before you drown.”

Deliberately — it _had_ to be deliberate — Steve shook his head hard enough to send rain splashing over Bucky’s face. Then he jumped back out of reach and closed the car door.

“Bastard.” Bucky never swore like he did with Steve. It was partially a matter of the bad language rubbing off on him, and partially the fact that Bucky needed something to say instead of ‘my God, how are you so adorable.’ Cursing Steve to hell and back was the safer option. Especially when Steve got in the car, started the engine, and then answered the insult by blowing Bucky a kiss.


	7. Chapter 7

**Saturday, October 5, 2013**

Bucky’s home had been in the family for three generations, though it had been stripped down to bare walls and fully remodeled just a couple of years ago, as Dad’s twentieth anniversary present to Mom. It was a brick detached house with a tiny yard and a driveway that was crammed with too many cars: Dad’s truck, Mom’s Prius, the family minivan, and the old Camry Becky had gotten as a birthday present.

Even though it was only the beginning of October, someone — probably Kimberly and Viola — had gone crazy with the decorations. Soggy cobwebs were draped on every hedge and around every window, and strings of light-up pumpkins decorated the fake balcony over the tiny front porch. By the end of the month, the yard would be full of scarecrows, ghosts, and skeletons, and locals would be dodging bats on fishing wire, strung from the old tree that hung over the sidewalk.

Last year, Bucky had barely kept Viola from animating the bats and adding sound effects. He wondered if Dad remembered Bucky’s warning or if he’d gotten too distracted by his work projects, as usual. Hopefully V would remember to check her circuits, or something might catch fire. Again.

Bucky managed to squeeze his car in next to Mom’s, though the passenger side was on the grass. When he looked over at Steve, he caught a deer-in-the-headlights expression and tried to come up with a way to convince him the whole family wasn’t weird as hell. Except he was starting to fear that was a Sisyphean task. “Um, yeah. The girls like holidays. Just wait until you see Christmas...”

Steve blinked as if confused. Then he grinned and said, “Uh huh. Consider me warned.” He opened the car door, covered the cake box with the towel, and got out carefully. “Can you grab my bag?”

“Yep.” Bucky shouldered both of their bags and stepped out of the car, his nerves dissipating in the rush of joy at being home. He’d never known another before going off to school, and the house itself held so many of his memories he’d always love this moment, even if no one was around to greet them.

He looked over at Steve, who’d circled around the car, head ducked against the rain, and felt the need to warn him one last time. “If they’re too much, just lemme know. We can escape, or I can find you a safe hiding place to draw.”

“Hey, yeah,” Steve said, giving Bucky a wicked grin. “I can be the scary punk in the walls, hiding under the staircase, creeping out after midnight to steal food from the kitchen.”

Bucky smirked as they climbed the front steps. “Mom would probably be fine with that. It’s not far off from how Dad functions, honestly. But just remember, she has no sense of boundaries. Or tact. So... sorry in advance.”

Bucky had managed a quick text to Mom while Steve was getting coffee, emphasizing the word _‘friend’,_ but that wasn’t proof against gaffes when it came to good ol’ Winifred ‘Call me Fred’ Barnes.

Steve grinned reassuringly. “Stop worrying. You haven’t met Aunt Vera yet.”

 _Yet._ Was it normal for one word to warm someone so dramatically? _Don’t get ahead of yourself, Barnes._ They still had the whole weekend to get through. And by the time it was over, Steve would finally understand how much of a weirdo Bucky was and probably decide he needed to find people more his type.

Before Bucky could think of an answer that wouldn’t sound ridiculous, the door opened, and Viola barreled out. _“Bucky’s here!”_ she screamed at the top of her lungs as she threw herself at him.

Laughing, he lifted her up and spun her around, deliberately moving them away from Steve and the cake, as he said, “Sorry I’m late, kiddo. But we come bearing gifts.”

“You missed pancakes, but Mom made Grandma’s meatballs for lunch, and Dad’s gonna teach me to weld afterwards, if you and GR wanna come.”

 _Oh, fuck._ Bucky had forgotten about the nickname. How the hell was he going to come up with an explanation for that? He looked apologetically over at Steve, who was grinning in delight.

“Welding, huh?” he asked. “You can come along when I finally go pick out a bike, then. Fix any problems with the frame and stuff.”

“What kinda bike?” V asked curiously.

“I _want_ a Harley. Dunno if I’ll be able to afford one, though.”

“Oooh. Will you teach me to drive one?”

“V, ease up, huh? He hasn’t even gotten through the front door. And he’s carrying your cake, so don’t trip him.” Bucky wrangled his gangly little sister into the house so Steve had a free path through the vestibule into the foyer.

“Kitchen’s down the hall, Steve. I’m right behind you.” As Steve headed that way, Bucky turned to V. “He doesn’t have siblings, so don’t overwhelm him, okay?”

“But I _like_ him,” she protested. She smiled innocently up at Bucky and added, “Besides, it’s my birthday, and you brought him for me.”

Bucky sighed. He should have known better. Steve was no longer his. By the end of the weekend, he would be all of theirs. “GR is _not_ your present, V. And don’t call him GR to his face.”

She rolled her eyes, but huffed, _“Fine!”_ in that dramatic way that all almost-eleven-year-olds had. She took Bucky’s hand and tugged him down the hall. “Does this mean you two don’t wanna learn how to weld?”

“We’ll have to ask him, but my guess is that he’ll wanna come.” Bucky blinked at the latent innuendo in his last phrase and wondered if he’d been spending too much time with Nat. He promptly swore to himself he would keep his mind firmly out of the gutter this weekend.

Thankfully, the kitchen was deserted, except for a huge pot of meatballs bubbling away on the stove. The sink was piled with dishes from what looked like an epic pancake festival. Steve was standing at the island, one hand on the cake box, one hand holding the towel, and for a moment, Bucky wondered why he still looked so thunderstruck.

Only then did Bucky follow Steve’s gaze to the fridge where, amidst the usual photographs, novelty magnets, and important letters that had been there for years, Mom’s flyers stood out like rainbow banners. Literally, in most cases. She volunteered at the Brooklyn Community Pride Center and wrote for various PFLAG chapter newsletters, all dating back to _before_ Bucky had come to understand his own sexuality. Mom was less a ‘proud parent’ and more an out-and-proud pansexual who just happened to have married a man.

Dad, of course, thought it was adorable. He delighted in telling the story of how he and Fred had met in college, where Fred had been trying to incite her student group into storming the administration to demand equal rights. He’d been lost, trying to find the Student Union, and she’d stopped shouting long enough to calmly give him directions and her phone number.

“So, do you have more tattoos?”

Viola’s question shattered the silence. Bucky blinked, remembering his glimpse of _something_ under Steve’s boxers that morning.

“Yeah.” Steve dropped the towel on one of the stools and shook his foot out of his boot, revealing the black widow tattooed there.

Unfazed by the bare foot, V leaned down. “Cool. What else?”

Grinning now, Steve stuck his foot back in his boot and crouched down to show the flag behind his ear. “That’s my oldest one.”

Viola poked at it, then at the topmost cartilage piercing. “Did this hurt?”

“Like uh” — Steve blinked up at Bucky — “a lot.”

“I can’t decide what formula to get as a tattoo,” V declared. “Not one of the basic ones, but something cool.”

Bucky caught Steve’s eye and winked. “Did I mention V would probably be as good a math tutor as me?”

Still crouched down to Viola’s height, Steve grinned at them both. “Yeah?”

“You need math help?” she asked with a frown that might’ve held a hint of disappointment.

“Yeah. It’s a real big class, and I can’t hear too well on this side” — he gestured to his left ear — “so I get lost. And the books are all sh—crap. I do better if I can talk stuff out with people.”

“You can text me any time,” Viola declared generously. “Or you can call, and I can just talk real loud.”

Well, Bucky was out of a job. And down one best friend, possibly two. His pleasure at watching V charm the pants off of Steve was mitigated by the reminder about Steve’s hearing. He always forgot about it, because Steve was good at compensating. Like in the car when he would turn so far towards Bucky in the passenger seat he was almost sideways.

Entirely unaware of Bucky’s inner turmoil, Viola asked, “Why’s your shirt inside-out?”

Steve laughed. “’Cause getting dressed first thing in the morning sucks without coffee.”

“Dad says _everything_ sucks without coffee.”

“It does,” Bucky’s mom said as she walked in from the hallway. She was in jeans and one of Dad’s button-down shirts, as usual on weekends. Steve got to his feet and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, as if self-conscious about his shirt. “You must be Steve.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, adorably shy.

Bucky found his manners somewhere under the disorienting fog of seeing his Steve and his mom in the same room. _He’s not yours, Barnes. Get over yourself!_

“Mom, this is my _friend_ from school. Steve, this is my mother.”

“Call me Fred,” she said before Bucky could get to that part. She stuck out her hand, and Steve took his out of his pocket to greet her. “Aren’t you just the sweetest thing! Bucky should’ve brought you home before.”

Bucky refrained from hiding his face in his hands. Steve was sensitive about his height and weight, and Bucky was terrified that Mom was going to point it out more directly — though he had to admit that he agreed wholeheartedly with her assessment of Steve. Sometimes he was sweeter than someone with his tough exterior had any right to be.

“It’s only October, Mom,” Bucky reminded her. “Any earlier would have been a bit forward, don’t you think?”

“Nonsense. You always did move too slowly,” she scolded, patting Steve’s hand before she turned it to look at the edge of the tattoo peeking out from under his jacket sleeve. “I always warned you, the best boys would get away if you didn’t make a move. That makes people think you don’t like them.”

Bucky realized too late he’d set himself up for that one. He’d meant it would have been forward of him to ask her to bring someone home, not to ask Steve to come home with him. “I —”

“Is this the tattoo V mentioned? Can I see?” Mom asked, just as oblivious to Bucky’s distress as Viola had been. _Standard._

Steve’s shoulders relaxed a little bit. “Yeah? Uh.” He looked down — Did he _have_ to keep doing the cute, shy thing? — and shrugged out of the leather jacket, then held out his arm.

“Oh, that’s _gorgeous_ ,” Mom said, tipping her head to study it from different angles. “They’re ravens, aren’t they? Messengers of the gods. Or are they crows?”

“Ravens. Yeah. We based them on the big ones at the Tower of London. They’re really smart. They sometimes go after tourists,” he added with a grin.

“Good for them,” Mom approved. “Come give me a kiss, Bucky. Then you can show Steve up to your room. There should be fresh towels in the bathroom. Do you need more condoms, or do you have enough?”

Bucky gaped. Then found his breath, and his voice, but not the courage to look over at Steve. He hugged her but didn’t kiss her cheek as he spoke sharply enough for Steve to hear. “Mom. Seriously. What did I say? Not a topic of conversation between us, and definitely not in public.”

Mom flinched slightly and gave Bucky a quick, apologetic hug. “Sorry! Old habits. We’re revising the safe sex presentation for high schools, and... well. Go upstairs and unpack.” She stepped away and picked up the cake box. “I’ll put this in the fridge for tomorrow.”

“Mom!” V protested. “Tonight —”

“Tomorrow,” Mom said firmly, waving Bucky back towards the front hallway. “Lunch in a half hour. And if you brought laundry home, _you_ get to do it.”

“Planning on it,” Bucky called as he ushered Steve towards the front of the house. He spoke to Steve’s back as he mounted the stairs going up. “Two flights up, to the attic. I’ll grab the laundry and meet you up there in a sec.”

Steve blinked over his shoulder. “You live in the attic?”

“It’s furnished. Like an apartment. Well, at least a couple rooms and a bathroom.”

“Damn. It would’ve been awesome if you lived under spiderwebs, surrounded by old furniture and creepy half-dismembered dolls.”

Bucky breathed easier to hear Steve not already running for the hills. “If it would make you happy, I could ask the girls to save the Halloween decorations and strew them around the den up there...”

“I like V too much to traumatize her with the dismemberment part.” Steve blinked innocently. “Or we could invite Nat over to teach her the most efficient way. Whatever.”

“She read _Frankenstein_ this summer, remember? There is no traumatizing that child, I swear.”

“Fuck. Yeah, okay. I’m kidnapping her as a birthday present for Nat. They can run a criminal empire together. Or run for political office. Same difference.” Then Steve reached out for Bucky, who froze — only to bite back a curse when Steve pulled at the backpack still over his shoulder. “Gimme our stuff. I’ll put everything away.”

Bucky took a deep breath as he extricated himself from the straps, trying to bring his heartbeat to normal. “Just throw it all on my bed. I’ll join you in a sec.”

Steve slung the pack over one shoulder and his satchel over the other. Without the jacket to add bulk to his frame, he looked ready to collapse under the weight. “Don’t drown,” he said, before he turned and took the stairs two at a time, stomping to keep his boots from falling off.

Bucky trotted out to the car, wishing he’d prepared Steve a little more for Mom’s special brand of pride. It was one thing to sort of have mentioned that you were queer to your hetero friend; it was another to have your mom assume you were fucking him.

 

~~~

 

 _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ Steve thought dazedly as he went up the winding staircase, paused at a hallway, then found the second staircase, going up to the attic. He was wrong about Bucky. So wrong. It was impossible to be _more_ wrong. Because Bucky either was the only asexual who had a burning need for multiple condoms — provided by his innuendo-flinging _mom_ , no less — or he was into guys. Who _weren’t_ Steve.

The happy, relaxed mood from the drive disappeared under the weight of that knowledge. He could barely think, much less breathe, and he had to stop at the top of the attic stairs to try and push through the tightness in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to run back down and out and find the nearest bus stop or call Nat or... _something_.

And how would that look? What would V and Mrs. Call-Me-Fred think? Fuck. Since when did he _care_ what other people thought of him? Apparently, since those people were Bucky’s family.

He dragged himself into a den with a sloped ceiling and half-height side walls. A computer desk took up the far wall, with bookcases to either side. There were a couple of couches and a throw rug that looked like it had been made out of a piece of tan wall-to-wall carpet. It looked dark and cozy, the sort of place where Steve could be comfortable, except...

 _Except_.

He groaned and tried the door opposite the stairs. Full bath, done in cheery bright white with blue accents. The side door led to a bedroom dominated by a queen-size bed. Because of the poster-covered sloped ceilings, the room looked intimately small. Steve could see a couple of band posters and maps of different cities, plus a periodic table of elements and prints from da Vinci’s journal with machine schematics. More bookshelves on either side of the doorway held sci-fi paperbacks and graphic novels.

There was no fucking way Steve was staying in here with Bucky. Yeah, he could fit on the floor between the bed and the wall, but God, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not while he was thinking about Bucky _not_ being ace or straight.

He put Bucky’s backpack down on the foot of the bed, then stood there, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with his satchel. Maybe he could take it out to the den on the other side of the attic and start drawing. That was how he’d first taken over Bucky’s couch: through accidental nesting. And that would save them both the awkwardness of Bucky having to throw Steve out of the bed.

 _Good plan_.

Before he could change his mind, he went to the nearest couch, which had the added benefit of having its back to the stairs. Even better, it was comfortable — more comfortable than Bucky’s barely-padded loveseat. He kicked off his boots, got out his drawing pad, and took out one of his pencils, only then remembering he’d had a birthday idea for V, about a million years ago.

A quick text to Nat took care of that. She confirmed that she’d be able to wrap and deliver the gift, and Steve promised to send her Bucky’s address as soon as possible.

When she asked how he was doing otherwise — if they’d ‘settled their shit’ — he evasively answered: _Fine. Gotta go. Lunch._

She always knew when he was lying, but he wasn’t going to go into details now. She’d have more than enough time to yell at him later or tomorrow or something. He sure as fuck wasn’t about to say that Bucky was just uninterested in him, rather than being asexual. Nat was Steve’s knight in shining armor. She’d probably hack the IRS or something to find Bucky’s home address, then come over to yell at him for not liking Steve more.

The creak of the stairs was loud enough for Steve to brace for Bucky’s entrance. He walked over and flopped down on the couch opposite Steve. “I threw our wash in. If you don’t wanna go down for lunch, that’s fine. My mom’s a lot to take. She thinks I...” He licked his lips and looked everywhere but at Steve. “A son is every mom’s hero, right?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Steve muttered, realizing too late that he probably shouldn’t say something like that.

Bucky looked stricken and ran his hands through his hair. “Shit. I’m sorry, Steve. I didn’t mean to —”

“It’s cool. Sorry,” Steve interrupted, shaking his head. He couldn’t look at Bucky, except in quick little glances. “And she’s fine. Aunt Vera’s just as bad. Fuck, they probably even know each other.”

Bucky grinned faintly. “Aging hippie feminists with too many causes to get behind? I kinda hope they do.”

“She takes too many shifts at work for anything but PFLAG these days.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide, and his grin faded as he pulled his lips to one side. “Ah. Yeah, they can keep you busy.” His voice was scratchy and when he finished speaking he cleared his throat, but then didn’t continue. Steve went back to drawing; the sound of his pencil was ridiculously loud in the attic. Bucky got up and walked into the bedroom, only to return with his backpack a moment later. He brought it over to his couch, but didn’t remove anything more than his water bottle, which he drank off in one long series of gulps.

The silence got even more awkward than Steve’s drawing, which didn’t even resemble Picasso’s version of ‘people’ much less anything Steve would normally create. He frowned down at the page and had to fight the urge to rip it out and toss it.

Finally, he let out a huff and said, “Look, it’s no big deal, your mom thinking _that_ about us. It’s like that shit people pull: ‘Oh, you’re bi? My cousin’s gay. You two should meet.’”

Bucky’s frown looked painful. “I’m sorry, I’m not really... I didn’t know... shit.” He ran his hands through his hair again and sat forward on the couch. “She says that kind of shit about everyone I... I just never actually _need_ —”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Steve snapped, digging the pencil into the paper hard enough to break the point. He forced his hand to relax before he could do any more damage, though all he wanted to do was to run. Maybe hit the wall a few times. Break something more than just a fucking pencil. He didn’t need Bucky fumbling over an excuse to _not_ want him. He preferred honesty. Or that Bucky just shut the hell up and drop it already.

“It’s clearly not, though. If I’ve made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry. I just didn’t know you... I figured you just didn’t mind that I was...” He flopped over sideways on the couch. “I’ll shut up now.”

Steve dropped the pencil in his satchel to keep from throwing it. “Do straight people do this shit?” he demanded. “You _are_ allowed to _not_ want to fuck someone, you know. Don’t go fucking apologizing for it.”

Bucky raised his head to stare hard at Steve. “ _Not_ want? Me? Steve, I... I haven’t done it much, despite what my mom thinks, but I _don’t_ not —”

_“Bucky!”_

The shrill voice made Steve flinch. He sat up enough to look over the back of the couch, just as Viola came charging up the stairs. She was grinning, eyes bright with excitement, and Steve ducked to hide the way he knew he was frowning. No sense in ruining _everyone’s_ weekend.

“Lunch!” Viola declared.

Bucky let his head fall back onto the couch cushion. “Okay, V. Thanks.” It sounded like he’d tried to put some energy behind his words, but he failed pretty miserably.

Steve considered hiding here, or maybe going to the bathroom so he could text Nat for an escape, but that would just make things worse. He closed his sketchpad and tucked it into the satchel, then shoved his feet back into his boots. He didn’t even have the energy to pull on socks.

Viola appeared around the couch, eyeing them both. She finally turned to Bucky and asked, “Are you gonna barf?”

“That’s an oddly perceptive question, V.” Bucky slowly sat up and rested his head in his hands. “Gimme a minute to assess the situation. Go on down to lunch.”

V huffed and turned to Steve. “You coming, geee?” she asked, drawing it out strangely. Steve blinked a couple of times, wondering if Bucky had somehow found out about his middle name, then told her about it.

“Uh. Yeah, sure,” he said, dropping his phone into his satchel out of habit. He couldn’t quite bring himself to look at Bucky. Instead, like a coward, he took the easy way out and told Viola, “Lead the way.”

She ran down the stairs without a backwards look. At the hallway, she pointed to various doors, saying, “Mom and Dad’s room, mine and Kimberly’s, and Becky’s, because she’s too boring to share.”

Steve dutifully laughed, though he couldn’t come up with anything to say. If he started to talk, he might be tempted to ask her something inappropriate — like, since when the fuck was Bucky actually queer? Instead, he followed her down to the main floor in silence.

Lunch was served in what could have been a coldly formal dining room, if not for the relaxed atmosphere. Not that it made Steve feel at all comfortable. Fred introduced her husband, George, and the other two girls, who were close enough in age that Steve was doomed to get them mixed up. Only V stood out, with her short haircut and frenetic energy. She looked enough like Bucky that Steve was uncomfortable, thinking back to whatever the fuck had happened upstairs.

Why couldn’t Bucky have just dropped the whole fucking thing? If they weren’t going to fuck, fine. They weren’t going to fuck. That didn’t mean they needed to _talk_ about it.

Viola had dragged Steve to the middle seat on the empty side of the table, then put herself to his right. Between bites of spaghetti, spicy marinara sauce, and meatballs, she provided a never-ending stream of distractions that slowly managed to ease Steve’s tension, though he never quite relaxed. He was still too caught up in how to get through the rest of the weekend — and very much aware of the empty chair beside him. A chair that Bucky would end up occupying, assuming he came downstairs at all.

 

~~~

 

_Jesus fucking Christ._

That was horrible. Bucky had done everything wrong and had somehow made it so Steve wanted to kill him. At least that was how he’d looked...

Bucky couldn’t even blame it on his mom. This was his own ineptitude. But how could he explain Mom was convinced he was a Casanova when really he was more of a cloistered monk? Not that Bucky had taken a vow of chastity or anything, though he might as well have. Deciding in college of all places that you didn’t like having casual sex was basically a death knell for your love life — especially when he’d started falling for someone who he was certain wasn’t queer.

Except somehow that was an erroneous assumption, and Bucky had felt like a complete ass when Steve had come out, mostly because he’d done so in a way that still left room for interpretation, and Bucky had spent way too long second-guessing himself. And then he’d put his foot in his mouth twelve times over, because his brain hated him and refused to catch up and actually engage with his mouth.

_God dammit._

Thank God V had come in before Bucky had basically said outright, ‘just FYI Steve, I really want to fuck you. Or be fucked by you. No preference, as long as we _are_ fucking, thanks.’ Because Steve had been right: no one has to apologize for not wanting to fuck someone, and Bucky shouldn’t have put Steve in the situation where he would feel like he had to.

Bucky had to sit on the couch for a full ten minutes before he was sure he wouldn’t puke if he stood up and went downstairs to eat meatballs with his family, while sitting near Steve. Who probably hated his guts.

_Fuck._

Just as he’d feared, the only empty seat was between Steve and Mom, across from Kimberly. Worse, it was on Steve’s bad side. He didn’t even look up when Bucky walked into the dining room, though that might have been because V was talking non-stop into his good ear. His punk, I-don’t-give-a-fuck aesthetic was being undermined by his sincerely interested face and how he was leaning over to catch what V was saying. It made him even more adorable and endearing than normal, which was saying something.

Bucky mumbled a half-hearted apology and lied about laundry as he sat and started serving himself the one meal he missed more than any other when he was at school. No one did plain old spaghetti and meatballs like Mom. Bucky had thought more than once about going vegetarian, until he remembered he’d have to give up this.

Granted, _this_ was easier to focus on than being ignored by his not-at-all-straight best friend/crush. _Jesus._

“So, how come Bucky’s wearing his shirt the _right_ way?” Kimberly asked as soon as Viola paused her monologue to take a breath.

Steve looked across the table, eyes narrowed just enough for Bucky to get a chill. “In college, not everybody has to look alike.”

Becky choked back a laugh and batted her eyelashes at Steve. “It’s like Mom says. Everybody should express their individuality. Right, Mom?”

“I’m not involved. I’m Switzerland,” Mom said.

Bucky knew the feeling. He didn’t trust himself to not jump down Kim’s throat or put his foot in his mouth and alienate Steve further, so he kept his head down and his mouth full of food. Besides, Steve had defended himself perfectly well.

“Isn’t that what I always say?” Dad asked from the other side of the table.

“Dad. Bucky dresses like _you_ ,” Kim said, undeterred.

Their father blinked, looking up from his plate to Bucky. “He looks perfectly normal,” he said, sounding slightly confused. He’d probably missed ninety percent of the conversation, as always. For someone with perfect hearing, he was very good at selective deafness.

“Give it time,” V said airily. “Steve can teach him all about real fashion. Then he can get something pierced.”

Bucky managed not to choke on his milk, but it was a close thing. For some reason his mind had unhelpfully supplied the image of a Prince Albert piercing. His imagination normally didn’t misbehave that dramatically on him — at least not at the dining room table.

“I’m not getting anything pierced any time soon.” _No matter what Nat might want,_ he added mentally. Which of course had him wondering whether she _would_ want that, and if she’d given it to Steve. Even more unhelpful. And blush-inducing.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, his mother unhelpfully said, “Well, if you change your mind, just keep it clean and take care of it. I’ve seen pictures of infected piercings.”

 _“Ugh. Mom,”_ Kimberly groaned.

_Jesus._

Bucky put his head in his hands and gave up. Of course, he couldn’t help but listen closely to try to catch any hint of how Steve was taking all of this, but he seemed to be doing fine. He went right back to asking Viola about her welding project — something to do with garden furniture — and ignored Rebecca and Kimberly sniping at each other.

Then their mom reached out and touched Bucky’s arm, asking, “Too much food? Did you have a big breakfast?”

The wishful thinking of a concerned mother. “No, Mom. I’m just going slow to savor it. It’s delicious. I’ve missed your cooking.” Truth be told, despite all of Steve’s efforts to remind him to eat, his stomach had shrunk over the past month and a half. He was still shit at taking time out for food.

“Besides,” V piped up, “they skipped breakfast. Steve said they just had coffee.”

“Yeah, but it was _good_ coffee,” Steve told her.

“Oh, Bucky,” Mom said with a sigh. “I’ll go to the bakery tomorrow morning so you can take some pastries back with you.”

Bucky sighed, knowing that fighting the inevitable was a fool’s errand. “Just don’t get a dozen or something. They’ll go stale before we can finish them off.” If only V could keep her mouth shut. But now Bucky was wondering what else she had gotten out of Steve. Because that could be dangerous. Time for a preemptive strike. “V, what games are you gonna have us play tonight?”

The older girls groaned. They acted like they were too old for things like charades and Settlers of Catan, even though once you twisted their arms they got into it as much as anyone.

But Viola just grinned and said, “ _Civilization_. Aunt Ida got _Civ V: Brave New World_ for me.”

“Geek,” Kimberly muttered.

“Geeks run the world, love,” Dad said with a smile.

“But that’s a single-player game, V. Are you over having us all play together?” To his surprise, Bucky found himself a bit sad at the prospect.

“Dad said I could use his computer, with his new graphics card,” Viola said, looking at their dad.

He blinked a couple of times as if he’d forgotten — which he probably had — and then shrugged. “It’s her birthday.”

“And it’s a _really_ new game,” she added. “If somebody got _me_ a new video card, I could probably play it on my machine...”

“Double-geek,” Kimberly said even more softly.

Bucky gave up on the idea of family togetherness, which was probably a good thing. There was only so much of the Cleavers he could expect Steve to handle. Besides, this meant he and Steve could escape after dinner... assuming Steve still wanted anything to do with him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Saturday, October 5, 2013**

Good food and awkward conversation and a heightened awareness of Bucky’s presence all combined to give Steve indigestion from eating too much while tense. He slowed down, picking at the last of his spaghetti as the older two girls left, followed by Fred. Then Viola said, “Can we go weld, Dad?”

Mr. Barnes seemed to have only the vaguest grasp on what was going on around him. He looked a little surprised that the table was half-empty, then asked, “Are you done?”

Instead of answering, Viola turned and asked, “Are _you_ guys done?”

Steve shot Bucky a quick glance. They hadn’t actually spoken _to each other_ since Bucky had sat down. And while it was damned tempting to take Viola up on the distraction, Steve was an outsider here — and probably an unwanted one. It would be best if he made his excuses and left.

“Um. There’s some” — he looked back at Viola, thinking fast — “school stuff we need to go over.”

“Ah, yeah. But if we get done quick we’ll catch up with you.” Bucky’s voice sounded odd and tight, and it ramped up Steve’s apprehension to critical levels. Talking might not be such a good idea after all.

“Ugh. Hurry,” she said, taking her plate as she left the table. Mr. Barnes went back to looking at his tablet, only moving when Viola called, _“Dad!”_

Steve got up and picked up his own plate, glancing at Bucky again. “I’ll just —” He gestured at the kitchen.

Bucky followed him silently and did nothing but scrape his plate and put it in the dishwasher. Then he ruffled Viola’s hair and waited for Steve, who hurried to follow Bucky to the stairs, while Viola and Mr. Barnes went out the back door. Across the rainy yard, Steve could see a workshed, which was their apparent destination.

Still without saying a word, Steve and Bucky went up to the attic. For a moment, Steve thought Bucky might want to do this in the privacy of his bedroom, which would be incredibly awkward. Then, Bucky turned for the couches instead, and Steve gratefully sat back down by his satchel, though he didn’t take off his boots.

Bucky fell lengthwise onto the other couch and tucked his hands behind his head. “I thought you wanted to weld.”

Steve hid a flinch and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He stared down at his satchel; it was easier than looking at Bucky. “Noth—” He had to swallow and take a deep breath. “Nothing has to change, unless you want it to. I can call Nat. Get a ride back to school.”

Blinking at him, Bucky replied, “That’s a whole lot of change which I’m not asking for. If you don’t feel comfortable here, that’s one thing, but I asked you here because... I dunno.” He took a slow, deep breath, then let it out quickly. Steve waited for him to say more, but he didn’t.

“Fuck,” Steve muttered, or maybe he just thought it really loudly. “I don’t _expect_ — I didn’t come here _for_ anything. From you, I mean.”

Bucky huffed a humorless laugh. “What would it have looked like if you had?”

“I _wouldn’t_. What the fuck do you think I am? You’re one of my best friends, Bucky.”

“And Nat’s the other one, but you fuck her, don’t you?”

Steve flinched, looking up at Bucky. “It’s not — We _both_ want... I don’t just automatically _expect_...”

“No, you don’t.” There was an odd hint of a giggle in Bucky’s voice, as he sat up and turned to face Steve. “Nat will stick her tongue down my throat unless I tell her not to, and you... I don’t feel okay even _touching_ you, except when you asked for a haircut. And you wonder why I thought...” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Huh?” Steve asked, feeling like he’d missed something. Or about a dozen somethings. “I can tell her —” He stopped as Bucky’s words hit, and he realized this might _not_ have anything to do with Nat. At least, not the way he’d been thinking. “Me?”

“You. Straight punk artist Steve Rogers, who marks his territory on his she’s-not-my-girlfriend we-don’t-use-those-terms we-are-too-casual every time we all hang out. The same not-girlfriend that likes to make you jealous by kissing me, though you seem to like her doing it.”

Steve stared at him in disbelief. “I’m not a fucking idiot. If I couldn’t _have_ you, I could at least —” He cut off too late, when he realized just how creepy that sounded.

Bucky was completely silent for a good ten seconds. Then he let out his breath on a short huff of a laugh. “Welcome to my head.”

“You _want_ me to watch you and Nat?” Steve asked a little dizzily.

Bucky sat up and leaned forward. “That’s definitely part of the reason I let her, so, yes. And I like her a _lot,_ but if I had my way, we’d dispense with the proxy.”

“Huh? Proxy?” Steve asked, thinking — ridiculously — that Bucky meant _him_ instead of Nat, but a good portion of his brain was stuck on the idea that Bucky _did_ want him to watch.

“Kissing by proxy. Highly inefficient, don’t you think? You don’t think she’d mind if we just...”

“We? But you don’t _want_ me,” Steve said, cursing the idiotic impulse that made him remind Bucky of that.

Bucky’s grin looked sharp, like it hurt. “Not if you’re straight. At least, I’d never admit to it.”

“I’m _not_ —”

_Oh._

It felt like Steve’s brain was coated in rust or something, but somehow, he managed to kick his thoughts back into place. Bucky didn’t want him if he was straight, but he wasn’t, which meant...

He got up, feeling that same sort of stomach-flip he got if he stood too close to the edge of the dorm roof. Six weeks ago, he’d hoped that Bucky wasn’t going to pick a fight that first day they’d met. Now, he _really_ hoped Bucky wouldn’t, because he was going to do something a lot riskier than talking.

The space between the couches had grown to about fifty feet. Bucky didn’t say a word; he just watched as Steve crossed to where he was sitting, his eyes getting wider with every step. That gave Steve the courage to get close, so close that his knees were touching Bucky’s. He put one hand on Bucky’s chest, and for a few wonderful seconds, he felt Bucky’s body heat and the motion of his breathing, and he thought he could just about feel Bucky’s heart racing.

Then he pushed Bucky back against the couch and climbed onto his lap, straddling his hips. Bucky’s eyes went even wider, but he didn’t say anything. Didn’t even lift his hands.

None of this actually felt real, but Steve wasn’t going to pass up this chance, no matter what. He lifted his hands to Bucky’s face, fingertips pressing against his jaw and cheekbone, feeling the stubble from where he hadn’t shaved that morning. Deliberately, he pushed up under Bucky’s jaw, lifting his face. A rough exhale parted his lips as he looked up to meet Steve’s eyes.

Slowly, giving Bucky every chance to say no or pull away, Steve leaned in close. He slid his hands back into Bucky’s hair, twisting the strands around his fingers, and pulled hard when their lips touched. Bucky’s gasp lasted for about half a second before Steve tipped his head at just the right angle and silenced him with the kiss Steve had been wanting since that very first day.

 

~~~

 

_Oh, fuck yes._

Bucky was pretty sure he’d never seen anything more beautiful than Steve looking down at him through heavy-lidded eyes framed by those amazing eyelashes, with such a confident expression full of open desire. And he was damned certain nothing had gotten him harder quicker than Steve tugging on his hair and taking over his mouth and his breath and every thought he had.

Steve’s lips were soft and lush, but he used his teeth as much as his tongue, and there was an extra layer of heat behind everything he did that Nat had never added. She’d been thorough, but polite; there was nothing polite about Steve. Not that he was pushy, because Bucky wasn’t into pushy. It was just as if there was a level of need involved. As if Steve _needed_ his mouth on Bucky’s, to lick and taste and capture with his teeth, to climb on top of him and then almost climb inside in a way that Bucky found himself welcoming with his whole self, which was fucking novel as hell, and made him dizzy.

At some point he realized he was clutching Steve’s hips hard enough to bruise, but he couldn’t let up without feeling like he was falling — _vertigo,_ his mind supplied — so he didn’t. And Steve didn’t pull away. Instead, he shifted and ground down against Bucky’s body, and Bucky could feel the growing hardness of Steve’s dick through layers of denim and cloth.

Which had the combined effect of spiking both his arousal and his anxiety. Bucky wanted everything that was happening, but the prospect of much more than this made him fucking nervous. Steve had said he didn’t expect anything, but that was before Bucky had said he wanted something. And now he was sure to expect more than Bucky was prepared for. So he clutched Steve’s hips even harder, if that was possible, and tried to hold them still until he caught his breath and his nerves calmed down.

Steve must have taken that as a hint to switch gears. He broke the kiss and moved his lips to Bucky’s jaw, murmuring, “You have any fucking idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you? Your fucking mouth. Too fucking perfect.”

Bucky’s anxiety dissipated a bit through the laugh he huffed out with his heavy breath. “If it’s as long as I’ve wanted to kiss you, I’m sorry. Because that was starting to feel like hell.” He turned his head to land a kiss on Steve’s ear, then stretched his neck to give Steve room to explore.

Steve’s answer was a wordless growl. He kissed his way to Bucky’s throat, then licked up to his ear. When Bucky shivered, Steve laughed and closed his teeth on Bucky’s earlobe, biting slowly, stopping only when Bucky’s breath caught hard. Steve released the bite and licked Bucky’s earlobe before asking, “What else do you want?”

_Fuck._

How could he answer that question? All he knew was that he _wanted,_ because there was so little that he’d actually done when it came to guys. Best keep to what he knew, at least for now.

“What’s the matter with more of this?”

Steve laughed as if he knew what Bucky was thinking. “Not a fucking thing,” he whispered, lips grazing Bucky’s ear. Another tug on Bucky’s hair pulled his head back even more, and Steve moved to kiss under Bucky’s jaw. Then he licked and said, “You taste so damn good.”

Bucky tried hard not to whimper at the ticklish heat of Steve’s tongue on his neck, but he might not have succeeded. “Oh my God, Steve. Take your time. Just... let’s move to the bedroom so V doesn’t walk in on us?”

This time, Steve’s laugh was full of humor, not desire. He backed up — and Bucky was positive the little twist of his hips was intentional — and then climbed off Bucky’s lap. “Got a lock on the door?” he asked, holding out his hand.

Bucky took the offered hand and stood up, trying not to be obvious about shifting himself in his pants. He smiled wryly. “Yeah, but it’s the tab lock you can open with a pin. And V carries one around with her, no joke. But she’ll yell at me for locking it first, so we should have enough warning.”

“Good. It’s cool when Nat watches, but nobody else,” Steve said as he pulled Bucky into his arms. Bucky’s brain stalled on the present tense, not the conditional, in that sentence. No ‘if’s about it. ‘When Nat watches’ meant she had done so in the past and very well could do it again. It took Bucky a couple seconds to remember to return the hug as he processed whether he was at all okay with that idea, and he came up short of an answer.

“She’s my kid sister; of course it’s not cool. Asshole.” Bucky filled his voice with affection and kissed the top of Steve’s head. “Come on, you promised me more of that kissing thing we were doing.”

Steve huffed, breath warm through Bucky’s T-shirt, then pulled away so he could drag Bucky to the bedroom. As soon as they were through the door, Steve shoved it closed — then pushed Bucky up against it. Steve was half a foot shorter and easily thirty pounds lighter than Bucky, but that didn’t stop him from pinning Bucky’s shoulders to the wall, getting up on his toes, and kissing Bucky, slow and deep and demanding.

Bucky automatically widened his stance so Steve didn’t have to reach so far, and he took hold of Steve’s hips to pull him close — which might have been a mistake. A twist of Steve’s hips, and Bucky narrowly missed biting down on Steve’s tongue to keep himself from groaning at the pressure. Cool fingers wrapped around his nape; Steve’s other hand twisted into his hair, and the sting was a sharp contrast to the soft heat of Steve’s mouth. With every breath, Steve rocked his hips, and the friction had Bucky panting in rhythm. Soon, he couldn’t govern the movement of his own hips, which was embarrassing. Kissing he could do, but he didn’t want to come in his pants. He moaned into Steve’s mouth as he pushed Steve’s hips about four inches back.

“Hang on.”

The hand in Bucky’s hair relaxed. Steve dropped flat on his feet and looked up at Bucky with eyes that had gone dark. “You okay? Did I hurt you?”

The concern made Bucky grin, or maybe wince, but he appreciated it either way. “No, sorry. I’m fine, I just... You’re too good at this, and I...” He pulled Steve to the bed and sat down on the edge, then tugged on him to kneel up on the mattress, straddling Bucky’s lap like before. “Keep your hips still.”

Steve’s smile turned sly. “You gonna try to _make_ me move?” he asked, scratching his nails lightly up over Bucky’s shoulders, to his nape.

Bucky frowned in confusion. Was Steve expecting something like a game of chicken? Whoever broke first, lost? “No, I just can’t keep... I get distracted, and...”

“Distracted, huh?” With a soft laugh, Steve twisted off Bucky’s lap, kicking off his boots as he went. The heavy _thumps_ reminded Bucky that his whole family — including nosy sisters — was downstairs. Not that Steve seemed to care. He crawled into the middle of Bucky’s bed and stretched out on his back, looking almost like a cat wanting its belly rubbed. He wrapped his fingers around the old wrought iron headboard Bucky’s dad had welded almost twenty-five years ago, as a wedding present. Then, with a smile that wasn’t quite sweet, Steve said, “Go on, then. Get distracted.”

Bucky just stared at him for a good couple seconds. Raising his hands above his head like that made Steve’s whole torso stretch, pulling his stomach taut and making his ribs stand out. Bucky had the insane urge to pin his hips down and tickle him. Habitual response of an older brother.

“What am I...” _Allowed to do? Supposed to do?_ He was worried he wouldn’t do what Steve wanted, and then... Bucky couldn’t keep the embarrassed look off his face as he said, “I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“Relax.” Steve nudged Bucky with his knee. “Whatever’s fun — and not _too_ distracting.”

 _Distracting from what?_ Everything about Steve was distracting. He could be sitting still on the couch at school, sketching, and the way he breathed would distract Bucky. Not that he was complaining. Distractions kept him grounded in reality, instead of off in his head and working for twelve hours without a break. But if he was really allowed to just touch Steve however he wanted to and stop whenever he needed to, that did sound like something he could do.

Bucky crawled up the bed and over Steve’s legs until he was straddling Steve’s thighs, then rested his hands on Steve’s stomach for a moment, registering the heat of his skin through the T-shirt and the subtle movement of his breathing. Steve closed his eyes and subtly arched into the touch, lips curving up in a smile. Bucky leaned forward to kiss that smile and found himself running his hands up and down Steve’s extended arms.

He could feel goosebumps and... not a shiver, but a twitch in Steve’s arms, as if he wanted to move. He didn’t, though, which was interesting. Not interesting enough to distract Bucky from pulling away from the kiss to run his hands up and down Steve’s sides next, and then his chest. It just felt good to touch him like this, after so many weeks of being sure Steve would never want Bucky’s hands on him at all. It would probably feel a lot better if he was touching skin, too.

“Can I...?” He tugged on the hem of Steve’s T-shirt and tucked a hand underneath to rest it on bare, cool skin.

Steve opened his eyes, and his smile turned wicked. “I dunno, Buck,” he said in a fake-worried tone. “I don’t wanna shock you, after all that talk of piercings at lunch...”

Bucky felt the heat rise up his neck to his face. “I wasn’t... I’m not against piercings. I just didn’t want everyone debating what I should get.” He wanted to say Steve couldn’t shock him, but if Steve actually had a Prince Albert, Bucky would probably fall over.

Steve let out a little snort, as if hiding a laugh. “Your mom seemed interested.”

Bucky sighed, resigned that his mother would forever upstage him. “Well, you’re pretty damned interesting, so I can’t blame her.” He sneaked his other hand under Steve’s shirt and slid them both around Steve’s waist as he leaned in for another kiss.

“You think?” Steve asked into the kiss, sounding incredibly pleased by that. He flicked his tongue against Bucky’s, lips curving up in a grin. “In that case, take off anything you want.”

Bucky smiled against Steve’s lips, then kissed his cheek and his jaw, working his way down Steve’s neck as his hands slid up Steve’s sides, the fabric of his shirt bunching at Bucky’s wrists. He reached up and tugged at Steve’s collar from the inside, clearing the way for his mouth to taste the hollow of Steve’s throat and his collarbone. “Let go and sit up a sec.”

Like a lazy cat, Steve took his time unwrapping his fingers from the bars. When he sat up, he wound his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and kissed his cheek, whispering, “Go ahead, babe.”

Feeling his face flush at the endearment, Bucky ran his hands up Steve’s back, registering the edges of vertebrae and ribs and shoulderblades under his fingers, then tugged the back of the shirt over Steve’s shoulders and head. Steve let go at the last minute, ducking his head, then shook his hair out of his face once the shirt was off.

The sly smile returned as he settled back down onto the comforter, stretching his arms up over his head. Bucky let the shirt fall as his eyes traveled down, over the familiar bird tattoo, past the hollows of Steve’s prominent collarbones, following a trail of freckles —

 _Oh,_ he thought as silver caught his eye. Each small, dark nipple was pierced with a ring. He couldn’t help but reach out and take gentle hold of one, making Steve’s breath stutter as he arched up, eyes closing. Of course. It was sensitive tissue. The metal was body-warm, and it made Bucky wonder what it would feel like in his mouth. Then, he realized he didn’t have to wonder.

He let go of the ring, and Steve blinked a couple of times, lifting his head to watch. Thinking that he didn’t want to hurt Steve, Bucky met his eyes as he flattened his hands on the mattress and slowly leaned down, making his intention clear. Steve’s lips parted, and just before Bucky looked away, he saw Steve’s eyes close again.

Bucky’s first touch was gentle, a lick ghosted over metal and flesh. Steve’s gasp was soft and high, encouraging Bucky to lick again. The ring shifted under his tongue, and Steve stopped breathing. When Bucky worked his tongue under the metal and lifted the ring, Steve muttered something that didn’t sound like English. Bucky took that as a good sign. He didn’t want to take hold of the ring with his teeth for fear of tugging it too hard, so instead he closed his mouth around ring and nipple at once and stroked with his tongue.

“Fuck. Oh, fuck,” Steve whispered, shifting under Bucky’s weight. “Do that. More.”

Bucky was happy to oblige, exploring the contrasting textures of flesh and metal, noticing which got a stronger reaction when he pressed his lip-covered teeth around it. He knew he should probably pull away and focus on something else when he started to wonder whether the static size of the ring felt dramatically different when the nipple tissue was erect from when it wasn’t. He sat up, running his hands over Steve’s sides, marveling at the fact that Steve was still holding onto the bars of the bed, though he opened his eyes and gave Bucky a convincing sad-puppy look.

Just out of curiosity, Bucky rubbed a thumb over each nipple, and the sad-puppy look vanished, replaced with a sigh of contentment. He repeated the motion a few more times, cataloguing the differences in sensation and apparent sensitivity, given Steve’s reactions. Light touches made him shiver, but it was the harder, rougher ones that got a gasp or moan.

“You won’t hurt me,” Steve said, his voice a little strained.

“Says the guy who gets beat up for fun...” Bucky was surprised to notice his own voice was husky.

Steve’s laugh was stuttered. “Fuck you, Barnes.”

“Don’t push your luck, Rogers.” The moment it was out of Bucky’s mouth he regretted it. This was _not_ the time to bring up how inexperienced he was. They were doing just fine as they were. No need to ruin the mood.

But Steve just laughed even more as he shot Bucky a challenging look. “I mean it. I’ve had ’em for years. Do whatever you want.”

Breathing a small sigh of relief, Bucky said, “Don’t tempt me into experimentation mode. I could be at it for hours.”

“Fuck. Yeah, not without handcuffs.”

_Handcuffs._

Bucky’s mind slammed directly into the word and stopped, wheels spinning. He was 98% sure that Steve was saying if he were expected to sit through hours of experimentation, he would require handcuffs to keep him in place. And that implied that he’d needed them before, in a similar situation. For that, Bucky’s mind unhelpfully supplied an image of Nat cuffing Steve to her bed, which definitely classified as distracting. Though not any less arousing, Bucky noticed. “Ah. Good to know.”

Steve flexed his hands, deliberately tightening his grasp on the bars. “Or I can use ’em on you, if you’d rather... Someday.”

Bucky went tense at the idea of being bound and unable to move, at the mercy of someone else, but maybe, if it was Steve... “I dunno. Get back to me on that.”

Instead of commenting, Steve shifted under Bucky again. “Doesn’t matter, either way. Unless you’re hiding a pair under your pillow. Besides, I haven’t let go. Yet.”

Were they actually playing the make-Steve-let-go-of-the-bedframe game? “If that’s the goal I should reassess my strategy here.” Bucky grinned challengingly at Steve, whose eyes lit up at Bucky’s words.

“Bring it,” he dared.

_Well, shit._

This was new. He and Steve joked and joshed and challenged each other all the time, but doing so in this case felt... not quite dangerous, but definitely captivating. Bucky had never really thought of intimacy as something that could be playful like this. It was a deeply intriguing idea.

Bucky couldn’t help reaching for Steve like he was going to tickle the bejesus out of him, but right before he touched Steve’s skin, he pulled back.

Steve let out a huff of breath and smirked, saying, “You can do better than that.”

That was most likely true, but Bucky wasn’t going to rise to the challenge, or he’d start getting nervous that he wasn’t doing well enough. And besides, he wasn’t sure he actually wanted Steve to let go, because that meant he’d start touching back. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, just nerve-wracking, given how little control Bucky seemed to have over his body right now.

“Tell me if anything’s too much.” Bucky leaned down to lightly kiss the hollow of Steve’s sternum. Steve’s slender build was that much more dramatic without a shirt. His lower ribs were prominent, pressing up against his skin with every inhale.

Bucky took a moment to admire the wiry strength in Steve’s frame before he moved to put his mouth around the ringed nipple he hadn’t tasted yet. He flicked the flesh with his tongue as he captured it with his teeth, slowly biting down harder and harder until Steve let out a broken moan, like nothing Bucky had ever heard. Steve twisted, hips pushing insistently against Bucky’s body, but he still didn’t let go of the bars. Bucky let up slightly on the pressure, but only for a second.

There was something in him that wanted to see how far he could go with this. Steve said Bucky couldn’t hurt him when playing with the piercing, and Bucky didn’t want to do damage, but he wondered where the edge was. Because Steve had challenged Bucky to make him let go, so he had to be ready for Bucky to push...

He licked the bitten nipple for a moment, then trapped the ring behind his teeth and slowly drew his head back, causing a persistent pull on the piercing. Steve’s back arched, and Bucky almost thought he was in pain, if not for how he cried out, the sound sharp and desperate.

“Fuck. Fuck. Don’t fucking stop,” he said — _pleaded_.

_Jesus._

Bucky inhaled sharply as a bolt of desire shot through his core. He stopped moving but didn't let go, keeping tension on the ring. He'd never expected Steve to _like_ the sensation so much, because it must have hurt at least somewhat. Nor did Bucky expect to enjoy causing it, but the sound Steve had made...

Bucky’s hands moved to Steve’s waist, gently pressing him back onto the mattress and following the motion with his mouth. He maintained just enough pull on the ring to keep Steve’s breath tight, breaking Steve’s words into little gasps. Steve twisted his hips as if trying to get out from under Bucky, demanding, “More, Bucky. Fuck, your mouth.”

It was a bit disorienting to have Steve’s responses seem so close to something that would usually make Bucky stop, and then have him say he wanted more. It kept Bucky’s heart in his throat, thinking at any moment everything was going to grind to a halt. If the tables had been turned, it probably would have already.

He wasn’t really sure what Steve meant by ‘more’, but he didn’t want to put too much stress on the piercing, so he sucked on the nipple and ring for a bit instead of tugging. He brushed the other nipple with his fingers, just to hear Steve swear, then reached up to touch Steve’s neck and ear and jaw.

As Bucky’s fingers brushed over his lips, his tongue darted out across Bucky’s fingertips. Bucky hesitated, and Steve lifted his head, closing his mouth around two of Bucky’s fingers. He sucked, pressing up with his tongue to trap Bucky’s fingers against the roof of his mouth. The wet heat felt better than it had any right to, and Bucky mirrored Steve’s motion as well as he could with the nipple in his mouth. It wasn’t the same, but it did remind Bucky what Steve was hinting about wanting — which could be a problem, as Bucky had almost no experience with either giving or receiving, and he didn’t want to disappoint.

Not that Steve was having any problems at all. God, his mouth was up against Bucky’s hand, and he wasn’t gagging at all. Bucky lifted his head and saw Steve’s eyes were closed, his expression almost serene, as if he could do this all day. His hips twitched just slightly, in rhythm to how his head was moving, as if deliberately making a point. But about what? His abilities or his desires?

Steve’s tongue was pressing between Bucky’s fingers, and the ticklish heat coming off of his touch made Bucky breathless. “I — Jesus — I can’t. Steve...”

Blinking as if confused, Steve pulled back from Bucky’s fingers. “Huh?”

“That feels so awesome, but if you want me to... I just... don’t know...” Bucky had done this so few times that he was certain to fuck it up somehow. The prospect of not getting Steve to come was mortifying.

For far too many silent, awkward seconds, Steve just stared at Bucky. Then his lips curled up, and he asked slyly, “Want a lesson?”

_Oh, fuck._

That was not what Bucky had been implying, but the idea brought heat to every inch of his skin’s surface area. Problem was, he was probably just as bad at getting as giving. If that was even possible. “No, I mean, I’ll probably knee you in the face or something. I...” His voice had a pleading edge that he hadn’t meant to allow, because he was panicking slightly at the idea of coming too quickly. “But... if you want, I’m pretty good with my hand. At least I’ve had enough practice at that...”

Steve looked down, letting his hands follow his gaze, taking a slow path from Bucky’s shoulders to the hem of his T-shirt. “I’m fucking awesome with hands _and_ mouth. Not to brag,” he added in an over-the-top modest tone as he grinned up at Bucky.

Bucky was pretty sure Steve didn’t mean it this way, but the brag brought to Bucky’s attention how much more experienced Steve was, not just with Nat, but apparently with guys too. And that ramped up Bucky’s anxiety about this whole thing even higher. Steve was looking at him expectantly, his hands at Bucky’s hips, and he sort of stalled out at the realization that Steve was waiting for some sort of answer. He had no idea how to respond, though.

He ended up just leaning forward and resting his head on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s body. “Wanna let me try?” he whispered, lips brushing against Bucky’s shoulder. “If you don’t like it, we don’t have to keep going.”

Steve’s words eased the tightness in Bucky’s chest in a way that gave him room to actually breathe. He raised his head to ask, “Really? Like if I said stop you would?”

That got him another confused blink. “Fuck. Yeah,” Steve said, frowning up at him. “I mean... _you_ would, if I said so, wouldn’t you?”

“God, yeah. Of course.” He felt Steve’s shoulders relax under his hands, and looked Steve in the eyes. “Of course.”

Steve’s smile returned, and he lifted one hand to tangle in Bucky’s hair. “So, wanna try?” he asked, giving a tug as he lifted his face for a kiss.


	9. Chapter 9

**Saturday, October 5, 2013**

The combination of the sharp pain in his scalp and the sweet promise of Steve’s mouth made Bucky dizzy and unable to answer the question. He leaned down to fulfill the promise and was rewarded with another pull on his hair and the demanding touch of Steve’s lips and tongue.

This was a demand he could meet. The press of Steve’s lips and the caress of his tongue helped to stoke the desire that Bucky had a hard time keeping hold of amidst all his self-consciousness. Bucky lost himself in the kiss and only remembered Steve’s question when his hands twitched at the waistband of Bucky’s jeans.

“Shit. Hang on. Kiss me again, and then... yeah.”

“Yeah?” Steve’s fingers worked at the button, flicking it open. He stretched up to lick Bucky’s lips, then flicked his tongue against Bucky’s as he whispered, “With my hands,” he asked, then nipped at Bucky’s lower lip, “or my mouth?”

Bucky suppressed a moan and said, “Start with the first one, and we’ll see about the second.” He captured Steve’s lower lip between both of his and sucked on it.

With a contented sound, almost a growl, Steve opened his mouth to Bucky — and unzipped Bucky’s fly. He took advantage of the room and worked one hand down along Bucky’s abdomen. There was nothing tentative or hesitant about Steve’s first touch, and Bucky suspected that only their awkward position kept Steve’s touch light. Bucky had to pull away from the kiss, gasping at the sensation of Steve’s fingers on the head of his dick. “Fuck, Steve. Go slow.”

“Slow as you want,” Steve whispered, leaning back so he could watch, not at all shy, as he stroked his fingers over the barely visible head of Bucky’s dick. “I can do this to you for _hours_ , if you want.”

Bucky giggled nervously as he tried to keep himself still. “I doubt I’ll be able to handle a few minutes. Sorry to disappoint.”

“Then I’ll just do” — with a wicked laugh, Steve moved his fingers again, only this time, the touch was feather-light — “this. Over and over again.”

The sensation was a combination of a tease and a tickle and had Bucky torn between seeking more contact and shying away from it. Indecision dragged it out longer, and by the time he was grabbing at Steve’s forearm, he was chagrined to hear a whimper escape his lips. This was going to end badly. “Hang on, wait. Shit.” He held Steve’s arm still, but didn’t push it away, as he said, “Touch me somewhere else.”

Instead of pulling his hand away, Steve whispered, “Kneel up a little. You’re wearing too much.” With his free hand, he tugged at Bucky’s open jeans, emphasizing his point.

Bucky countered with taking off his shirt. He wasn’t ready to lose his pants yet. “Here.”

Steve turned his attention to Bucky’s chest and grinned. “Fuck. For a geek... I’ve wanted to touch you for so fucking long,” he said, sliding both hands away from Bucky’s pants and up his body instead. “Look at you.”

Bucky closed his eyes and breathed deeply in relief, savoring Steve’s appreciation. He opened them again as he twisted off Steve’s lap and lay back on the bed, catching Steve’s forearm again to pull him down. Grinning, Steve stretched out beside him, chest pressed to his side, one hand flat on his abdomen.

“What else do you like, hmm?” he asked, though it seemed to be a rhetorical question. He leaned in close for a kiss, effectively silencing Bucky, until his fingers dragged up and over one nipple.

_“Oh.”_

_Right._ _That_ was why Steve had his pierced. Bucky had broken the kiss with his exclamation, but raised his head to find Steve’s mouth again a moment later. The kiss was grounding and helped him focus.

“Like that?” Steve asked, sweeping his fingertips over again, with the same light, shivery touch.

“So far...” Bucky felt like a tease answering like that, but there was no good way to explain that he was trying to process the sensations from Steve’s hands on him.

Evidently Steve took it as teasing, too. He laughed and did it again, just as he nipped Bucky’s lower lip. Bucky could feel the flesh getting firm under Steve’s fingers, and the arousal he felt made him want to be touched even more.

“Yeah,” Bucky whispered, but the word cut off when Steve trapped the nipple between his fingertips and pulled. It was too light to be painful, but the jolt of sensation made Bucky lose his breath and arch his back.

“Fucking perfect,” Steve murmured, squirming down the bed as he tugged again. For a few precious seconds, Bucky lost himself in the feel of Steve’s fingers, until he felt wet heat and suction on his other nipple.

“Aah... Jesus, Steve...” Bucky’s hand went to the back of Steve’s head, not to direct his movement in any way, just to touch, to ground himself against the source of the sensation. His palms seemed to be giving off heat, so he felt the need to close the loop and make the circuit complete.

Steve muttered something, words lost against Bucky’s skin, an instant before he sucked again, harder. Bucky couldn’t stop his hips from raising up and his fingers from curling into Steve’s hair and holding on tight. This time, Steve’s groan was wordless, and his fingers went still for a moment. Before Bucky could let go, thinking it might have hurt, Steve exhaled warmth over his chest, then deliberately pulled against his hand to capture his nipple again. This time, Bucky could just feel Steve’s teeth scrape against the sensitive skin.

The heat that was spreading through him went sharp, like electricity. That combined with the chafing of Steve’s fingers on his other nipple was bordering on too much. With his free hand, Bucky took hold of Steve’s wrist and moved it to his waist, needing the skin-to-skin grounding to handle the dizzying sensations coursing through him. Steve trailed his hand down to Bucky’s hip, sliding it under his briefs, and he gripped the wrist more firmly, but didn’t push it away.

“Want my hand, or should I” — Steve pressed his tongue to Bucky’s tingling nipple and licked, slow and deliberate — “do that to your cock?”

“Fuck, Steve...” The heat that bloomed over his skin caught his breath and held it for too long. What Steve was offering was so fucking hot, Bucky was sure it wouldn’t take much more than one lick like that to make him come. Which was shameful. He held tighter to Steve’s wrist, saying, “This. This is good. I can do this.”

“You sure, babe?” Steve asked, pulling his hand out of Bucky’s pants. He touched the hand that was in his hair, curling Bucky’s fingers more tightly around the soft blond strands. “If it’s too much, you know you could stop me, even if you couldn’t talk — or you could tell me to go faster, take you deeper...”

Bucky’s dick twitched at Steve’s tone of voice, but he pulled his hand out of Steve’s grasp, having no desire to coerce Steve into anything. “No, I’m good.”

“Would you rather touch me?” Steve asked, though he slid his hand over Bucky’s abdomen and cuddled close to his side once more. “We can do like before.”

Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders and sighed at the feel of so much skin-to-skin contact. He felt like an idiot, having Steve here and not knowing what to do with him. Well, he knew _what,_ but not _how._ And the idea of fucking it up was making him anxious. He didn’t want to ask for something that he wasn’t going to be able to reciprocate. “We can touch each other, just... not with mouths.”

“It’s okay,” Steve said, though Bucky thought he heard a note of disappointment that the casual tone couldn’t hide. Then Steve laughed and rested his head against Bucky’s arm, asking, “Want me to call Nat? I like giving blowjobs a whole lot more than she does. She’s better with her hands.”

_Fuck._

The idea of adding another person — let alone Nat — into the mix made him even more nervous. He was more experienced with female anatomy than with male, but both at once sounded... well, too fucking hot for him to last any length of time. And given he was already having that trouble with just Steve... “No, just gimme time. I can get there. Just not right now.”

“Hey. No, it’s _really_ okay.” Steve lifted his head and kissed the corner of Bucky’s mouth. “Hands are fine. I just want you to feel good, is all.”

Bucky turned his head to murmur against Steve’s lips, “Just having you in my bed feels better than I ever thought possible. Everything else is gravy.”

 

~~~

 

Bucky’s words brought a relief that lifted a weight from Steve’s chest — a weight he hadn’t even known was there. How could someone so fucking gorgeous be so... _What?_ Naive? Inexperienced? Doubtful of his own attractiveness?

Then Steve remembered how hard it could be to pull Bucky’s nose out of a book or his latest project. Bucky scheduled classes, lab time, and study time without thinking about breaks for coffee, much less food. Or sex. Hell, Steve started to wonder if Bucky was actually a virgin, by whatever definition.

And that was just... well, adorable but also intimidating as fuck. What right did someone like _Steve_ have to be Bucky’s first? Bucky could barely even _talk_ about the basics, and some of what Steve had done was so far beyond vanilla as to be on another damned planet.

Steve would _really_ have to take this slowly.

Bucky picked his head up to catch Steve’s eye, scattering his thoughts by saying, “Hey, I’m sorry, you still haven’t gotten off. Can I... help?” He slid one hand down over Steve’s hip and rested it there.

Steve tensed up to keep from twisting to get Bucky’s hand where he really wanted it. “It’s okay. You haven’t, either, remember?”

Bucky’s smile turned into a grimace. “It’s really okay. But if you want...” He started to slide his hand along the front of Steve’s pelvis.

There was no hiding the needy little whimper that escaped Steve’s throat, though he tried to play it cool. “You —” He cut off as an idea came to him. “You want to show me?” he asked, trying not to get his hopes up. “What you like, I mean. Or, uh, what you’re good at.”

The blush that swept up Bucky’s neck and ears was so pretty. “That still doesn’t get you off, though. I’m more than happy to...” He hooked one finger under the waistband of Steve’s jeans.

Steve laughed raggedly. “What do _you_ want?” he insisted upon asking, though it was damned hard not to take what Bucky was offering. Bucky was just so skittish, though, that Steve didn’t want to risk scaring him off again.

Huffing in what might have been frustration, Bucky responded, “You act like I’m supposed to know the answer to that. I don’t. I know I can get you off, if it’s okay that I don’t use my mouth. I know that you feel really good touching me, but I dunno anything else past that. I’m sorry, I’m just not good at this.”

“Fuck. This isn’t a school class, Bucky,” Steve said, thinking he was starting to understand. “You don’t practice or study for it. You just do whatever. I mean, before you were talking about your experiments, right?”

“Okay, then why do I always feel like I’ve been absent all semester, and it’s finals week?” That was definitely frustration.

Steve couldn’t quite hide a strained laugh. “Because you’re a fucking overachiever?” he suggested, pulling free of Bucky’s arms so he could sit up. He unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, then pushed his hips up so he could shove the denim down, not quite hiding a sigh of relief. About a million years ago, he’d left off his underwear because he couldn’t find a clean pair in Bucky’s closet, and denim wasn’t too fucking friendly, considering how hard Bucky had gotten him.

“That would imply I’d actually achieved...” Bucky’s voice sounded like a sleepwalker’s, and his eyes were riveted to Steve’s cock. It was as if the thought had started to come out his mouth, but was left behind when his mind went somewhere else. Steve was pretty sure it was now where he wanted it to be. Bucky glanced up at his face, a beautiful blush on his cheeks, then licked his lips as he looked back down. “You want me to...?” His hand twitched forward but didn’t touch.

Feeling much better about things, Steve kicked his jeans off the bed and turned to lie down properly, with his head on the pillows still tucked neatly under the comforter. Bucky pushed up to all fours and crawled next to Steve, stopping beside his hip. His eyes were fixed to Steve’s body — and they went wide when Steve reached down and wrapped a hand around his cock, the touch cool and familiar.

It took Steve a couple of seconds to catch his breath, even though he didn’t actually move his hand. “Anything you want, Bucky,” he said with a confidence he didn’t really feel.

“Jesus. One sec.” Bucky hopped off the bed and left the room, leaving Steve naked on the bed holding his cock in his hand. Thankfully, Bucky was back in under a minute, holding up a little packet, which, when he settled back down in place, Steve saw was lube. “When I moved to college, Mom stocked my bathroom with condoms and packets of lube ‘for guests’. But you heard her preoccupation with making sure I had enough.” He rolled his eyes and grinned as he tore it open and poured some onto his palm.

Steve’s laugh was edged with jealousy at Bucky _having_ a mother. Especially one as awesome as Fred. “Yeah, well, don’t use any of that on yourself, in case you change your mind about letting me blow you. It gets all weird under a condom.”

Bucky froze, but a few seconds later seemed to pass it off as waiting for the lube to warm up in his hand. “One step at a time, pal.” And then his hand was on Steve’s cock, sliding from tip to base and twisting around both directions to coat it evenly.

 _Fucking finally,_ Steve thought, unfair as it was. He closed his eyes to better concentrate on Bucky’s hand, and some of the excitement he’d felt earlier — this was _Bucky_ , the guy he’d wanted for weeks now — started to return. Steve wanted to thrust up into his hand or to pull him into a kiss, but he forced himself to stay relaxed and compliant. Too much would just scare Bucky off again. He raised his free hand up under the pillow and shoved it up a bit as he opened his eyes again, wanting to keep tabs on Bucky’s mood.

Bucky’s eyes were focused on what he was doing, but he leaned down close to Steve’s chest, almost as if listening to his heartbeat. At one point he turned his head to look assessingly at Steve’s face. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed. He couldn’t help but push up a little bit, wanting Bucky to move a little faster or harder. Then, because Bucky seemed to need encouragement, he added, “Very.”

As Bucky turned his head back to look at his hand, Steve’s nipple ring seemed to catch his eye. He leaned down a little farther and brushed his lips back and forth over the flesh, his hand speeding up slightly to match the rhythm. Electric current arced between those two points, building pressure in Steve’s chest, spreading heat through his body.

“Fuck. Do —” He cut off, not wanting to push, but wanting more all the same. “Don’t stop. Please.”

Steve saw Bucky grin widely just before he stopped moving his head and pressed his mouth to Steve’s nipple, taking it between his teeth and sucking on it as his hand increased pressure, stroking harder.

Sparks lit up behind Steve’s eyes, which had closed. When? He didn’t care. He was losing himself to the rhythm now, the pleasure and stinging pain and need all building too fast. It had been too fucking long since he’d had any sort of relief — especially since he hadn’t let himself think too much about _this_.

He felt soft strands under his fingers, and he barely kept from pulling on Bucky’s hair. He let himself scratch at Bucky’s nape, hoping he’d take the hint. With his other hand, slick with traces of lube, he felt down between his spread legs, behind his balls —

 _There_.

He clenched his jaw to stay quiet, not wanting to startle Bucky out of what he was doing. His hand was fucking _perfect_ , bigger and stronger than Steve’s, and the heat of his mouth was so much better than fingers pulling on the piercing. The only thing that would’ve made this better was if Bucky would let him reciprocate, but Steve suspected that wasn’t going to happen. Not the way he wanted, at least.

Bucky changed rhythm again, twisting around the head in short, quick strokes, and he bit down hard on the nipple — hard enough that Steve could feel pressure on the part of the ring inside. Steve’s breath caught on a desperate whimper, and he jerked his hand back from between his legs for fear he’d finish on the spot.

Not that it mattered. Bucky let up on the bite and took the ring between his teeth and tugged, and that sharp pain was all it took. Steve thrust up into Bucky’s hand and let out a broken cry as the pleasure stole his breath and mind. And Bucky didn’t let up, paralyzing Steve on that edge between too much and not enough, until Steve couldn’t see straight.

Only when he was gasping and shaking did Bucky finally release the ring and let his hand fall still. Steve dragged in a breath, feeling his heart pound against his ribs, and blinked a few times, trying to focus on Bucky’s face.

But he’d barely opened his eyes before Bucky moved in for a kiss, heated and desperate, licking at Steve’s mouth, nipping at his lips and tongue. Steve caught at Bucky’s hair, twisted, and held him in place, kissing just as desperately, needing to show Bucky just how good that had felt — in case he had any doubt. And when the kiss broke, leaving them both breathing deeply, Steve had to bite his tongue to keep from repeating his offer to go down on Bucky, because that was all he wanted to do. But if Bucky was more comfortable with hands-only... Well, it didn’t have to make sense to Steve. Only to Bucky.

“Fuck, that was gorgeous. _You_ were gorgeous.” Bucky kissed Steve’s jaw and ear and neck, burying his face against Steve’s shoulder. “Present tense. You _are_ gorgeous. Jesus.”

Everything inside Steve purred as a different sort of heat spread through him. He was anything _but_ gorgeous. He was scrawny and weird looking in a way that no amount of tats or piercings could hide. “Not like you,” he muttered against Bucky’s soft hair.

“The first thing I knew about you was that you were pretty.” Steve could feel Bucky’s smile against his neck, as his clean hand ran up and down Steve’s side.

“Pretty. Yeah, what the fuck?” Steve asked, blushing even more when he remembered it was Bucky’s sister who’d called him that, way back on that first day they’d moved into the dorm. “You got a towel or something?”

Bucky jerked his head up, his eyes wide. “Oh, right. Hang on.” He kissed Steve quickly before hopping off the bed and heading to the door.

“Hey!” Steve called after him. When he looked back, Steve tried for a confident grin and said, “Get more lube or a condom. Your choice. Or both, if you want. I don’t get all over-sensitive after a couple minutes.”

Bucky grinned back and ducked his head as he left the room. It took him a couple minutes, but he came back with a damp washcloth in one hand, a dry hand towel over his arm, and packets of lube and condoms in his other hand. He was too fucking adorable for words, Steve thought, like he was playing host to a house guest. Bucky sat down on the edge of the bed, dropped the packets on the bedside table, then hesitated for a second before handing the washcloth over to Steve.

Hopefully those packets meant Bucky wanted more than just a hand job. Steve cleaned up quick, then dried off and dropped both towels over the side of the bed. “How about you get rid of your jeans and come here, babe?” he invited.

“Ah. Yeah.” Bucky looked down at his still-open jeans, then up at Steve with a wary expression. Then he stood, facing away from the bed, and tugged off his jeans, but not his underwear. They were blue briefs with a white waistband and piping.

 _For fuck’s sake..._ Steve had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing at how adorably shy Bucky was. Did he _really_ not know how desirable he was?

Steve hooked a finger in the back of Bucky’s underwear and gave a little tug — not to pull them off, but to get Bucky’s attention before he panicked and ran. “You’re not kissing me. Fix that.”

Bucky looked over his shoulder at him and grinned impishly, making his breath catch. There it was, proof that Bucky wasn’t _all_ innocent. He crawled over the bed to climb on top of Steve, caging him in with all four limbs, and leaned down to kiss him, slow and sweet. Steve couldn’t resist feeling up and down Bucky’s arms, fingers tracing his muscles.

All but purring when the kiss ended, Steve murmured, “Better.” He wrapped his hands around Bucky’s shoulders, then swept down Bucky’s back with an insistent push. “Lemme feel you, Bucky.”

Letting out a slow exhale, Bucky gently lowered himself down to rest his weight on top of Steve, their bodies flush from chest to ankle. He squinted his eyes at he looked at Steve. “If I’m too heavy...”

Steve huffed and shifted under Bucky’s weight, loving how strong and solid he felt. “Yeah, whatever. If I’m too bony, you can get a pillow or something,” he teased, though it was more than half true. He wasn’t exactly padded anywhere.

“You feel perfect.” Bucky grinned fondly at Steve and pressed a kiss to his collarbone.

Steve could just barely reach his fingertips under the waistband of Bucky’s underwear. He’d have to do something about that — both positioning and clothes — and soon. For now, though, he lifted his head and gently bit Bucky’s shoulder as a distraction as he got one leg out from under Bucky, then the other.

Bucky grunted, probably at the sting of the bite, but was focused on kissing his way up Steve’s neck and automatically shifted his weight so Steve could move underneath him. Steve let his head fall back as he rolled his spine, wrapping his legs around Bucky’s hips. Bucky’s head was on Steve’s left side, but he wasn’t entirely deaf in that ear. He could hear the way Bucky’s breath hitched and caught. More importantly, he could feel the way Bucky’s cock hardened and lengthened.

“Fuck, you’re the perfect one,” Steve whispered.

Bucky slid one hand into the gap between Steve’s lower back and the mattress and wrapped his arm around Steve’s waist, pulling him close. The other arm was braced against the bed near Steve’s head so he could reach up and suck on Steve’s earlobe, tongue toying with his earrings. Then Bucky breathed against the shell of his ear, saying, “Whatever. Point is, you feel so _fucking_ good...”

Steve’s toes curled at the pleasure of Bucky’s mouth and body and words. “Could feel even better,” he said, words slurring together.

Bucky tensed slightly and pulled his mouth away from Steve’s ear, but kept his hips pressed right up against Steve’s, and his hand started stroking Steve’s lower back. “What were you thinking? You still wanna use your mouth?”

“Fuck, yeah,” Steve answered before he could stop himself. Quickly, he added, “If that’s what _you_ want.”

Bucky took and let out a quick breath, stirring Steve’s hair. “I mean, learning opportunity, right? Just...” His next words came out all in a rush. “I’m gonna last about two seconds, and I’ll be shit at returning the favor, but you clearly want to, so...yeah?”

Steve’s heart skipped, and he had to swallow to say, “Yeah. I do.” He turned to kiss Bucky’s head, then his shoulder. “You wanna stay on top?”

Bucky’s head lifted, but not far enough for Steve to see his face. “Um... Dunno? I wanna be able to watch...” He rubbed his face in the crook of Steve’s neck, and he couldn’t tell if that was Bucky being sweet or needing to hide.

“Standing,” Steve said, giving Bucky a nudge. When Bucky moved, Steve looked at the wall, only then remembering they were in the attic. Even he couldn’t stand upright against the side walls, thanks to the slope of the roof. “Uh, maybe up against the door?”

Bucky sat up and blinked at him, then his eyes widened and he nodded. “Right. Support. Um, yeah?” He climbed off the bed, looking back over at Steve, saying, “How do you want me?”

“I’ll make a list after, okay?” Steve teased.

More blinking, and then Bucky’s face broke into a wide, indulgent grin. The kind he gave Steve and Nat when they were being raunchy in his presence. “Right. I guess I should be grateful the list doesn’t already exist, then?”

Steve laughed and got up off the bed, turning to pick up one of the two condoms Bucky had brought in. “Maybe I just never wrote it down.”

“Aha — Oh, hey. What’s that? _And that?”_ Bucky came up behind him and Steve felt a warm fingertip high on his right shoulderblade. “Is this Nat, too?”

“Yeah, all —” Steve stopped, realizing what Bucky must have seen. He tended to forget that he had a tattoo of a little black cat, like a Tim Burton cartoon drawing, because he never actually _saw_ it. “All my tats are. Even the unexpected one back there.”

“I take it the eagle-heart-thing was the surprise tattoo?” Bucky bent down to look closer at Steve’s ass cheek, where his ‘death before dishonor’ Sailor Jerry tattoo was, though he didn’t touch it.

“Yeah. I mean, I’d helped her with tracing it. I thought she’d just draw it. Hell, she did it upside-down. And, y’know, once the needle starts, you don’t want to move or... well, it’s sorta permanent.”

“Why upside-down?”

Since it didn’t look like Bucky was going to be touching any time soon, Steve turned and started herding him back towards the door. “’Cause she was sitting on my back at the time. She kinda got sick of me wanting it, then not wanting it, then wanting it again...” He grinned.

Clearing his throat as he walked backwards to the door, Bucky smirked apologetically. “Hm... I wonder if you have any idea what that’s like?”

For one moment, Steve had no idea what Bucky was talking about. Then it hit, and he gave Bucky another shove, pushing his shoulders up against the door. “You and me both, baby,” Steve said, raising up on his toes to get his arms around Bucky’s shoulders.

“As long as you want it now...” Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s back and leaned down to kiss him slowly and thoroughly. And fuck, for a virgin or near-virgin or whatever, Bucky was _damned_ good at kissing. Like Nat, but not quite — a thought that made Steve wonder if he could talk Bucky into a tongue piercing.

When the kiss broke, Steve dropped back down on his heels, saying, “Fuck, yeah, I do.” He kissed the top of Bucky’s shoulder then gently bit his collarbone before moving lower down Bucky’s chest. He knew Bucky went jogging or to the gym sometimes, and used the chin-up bar mounted in his closet doorway as a study break, but for someone so half-assed about it, he was in damned good shape. As Steve inched his way down, Bucky’s hands trailed up to his shoulders and squeezed slightly, as his breath came out sharp and then went shallow.

Over the years, Steve had perfected his innocent-and-harmless look. As he knelt between Bucky’s feet, he put it into use, looking up with wide eyes, smiling his sweetest smile, and hooked his fingertips under the waistband of Bucky’s briefs. He gave a little tug, silently asking, _Can I?_

“Fuck, Steve.” Another sharp breath, then Bucky’s hands on his neck, up to the back of his head, and back down to his shoulders, before he got a nod.

Hiding a triumphant grin, Steve tugged the waistband away and down. Uncut, thick but not too long... Just enough of a challenge without doing uncomfortable things to Steve’s breathing. “Fucking perfect,” he whispered, letting the fabric fall. He put the condom down so he could get both hands around Bucky’s cock, fingertips playing with the foreskin.

Bucky’s breathing was all over the place, and Steve spared a quick thought to hope he didn’t hyperventilate or pass out from lack of oxygen. Still, Steve was delighted by the reaction. He slid his fingers up, using gentle pressure, then back down. He let his right hand keep going, twisting to cup Bucky’s balls while his left hand went back up.

“Aah, Steve... Remember when I said ‘two seconds’?” There was a hint of a needy whine in Bucky’s voice that sent a thrill through Steve, and he could feel the tension in Bucky’s legs and the hands on his shoulders.

“Okay, baby. Okay,” Steve said softly, moving his hands to Bucky’s hips instead. The condom would help, too, but first...

Steve leaned in and pressed his mouth to Bucky’s thigh, licking against the grain of the soft brown hairs. He smoothed his hands down Bucky’s leg and followed with his mouth, letting his fingers tease behind Bucky’s knee.

A sharp curse and a jump in the leg muscles startled Steve, and he heard a laugh come from above his head. “I _told_ you I’d knee you in the face... Quit teasing already. This is hard enough as it is.”

Helplessly, Steve burst out laughing. He sat back on his heels and grinned up at Bucky, saying, “Aw, fuck. Hard enough? _Really?_ ”

Once again, Bucky blinked at him. This time, though, Steve could tell it was deadpan. “It _is._ On both levels. It’s been a long time since someone else...” The blush that crept up his face just made everything about this that much more adorable. “And, fuck, but you get me rock hard.”

There were illegal levels of cute, and Bucky had just passed them. Taking pity on the poor guy, Steve picked up the condom, ripped off the wrapper, and said, “Okay. Just a couple seconds...” He couldn’t resist stroking Bucky’s cock a couple of times, making Bucky gasp and swear under his breath. “Language!” Steve scolded as he got the condom in place and started rolling it down. “You want your mom to hear you talk like that?”

Bucky’s hands gripped hard on Steve’s shoulders as he let out a huff. “Jesus, Steve. Don’t even joke. She’d be so fucking smug,” he said, sounding a little more relaxed.

Good. Maybe Steve could drag this out a little bit longer. It felt like he’d been thinking about this _forever_.

He knelt up again and licked up Bucky’s cock, from base to tip, wetting the condom. The touch was light, and he knew the condom would help keep things from ending too quickly. Still, no sense in playing around. They could do that next time — and he was damned well determined to be good enough that there _would be_ a next time.

When he closed his mouth around the head, Bucky groaned and went almost boneless, and Steve guessed that it was only because Bucky already had his hands on Steve’s shoulders that he stayed upright. As it was, he heard a thump, and looked up to see Bucky’s head had fallen back against the door, his eyes closed and his mouth hanging open.

Steve pulled off long enough to whisper, “Fucking gorgeous,” before he got back at it, taking Bucky’s cock a half-inch deeper each time. He tipped his head to the left just a little, wanting to hear as much as he could. Bucky’s gasps were faint, but the way his muscles locked tight was fucking perfect. And when Steve pushed up with his tongue, dragging the head against the roof of his mouth, Bucky let out a moan that Steve had no problem hearing.

Talk about fucking incentive. Steve pulled off and licked even more, lavishing attention on every inch of Bucky’s cock, then took him deep, all the way back until he had to relax his throat and swallow. He closed his eyes and nosed at Bucky’s hair, then backed off so he could do it again.

He didn’t get the chance. Just as he pulled back, Bucky cried out, and the motion of his hips stuttered. His hands clenched as his cock pulsed on Steve’s tongue, and Steve was thankful for the condom once again, or his mouth would have been unexpectedly full. Licking and pressing more gently, Steve let Bucky set the pace, until he let out a shuddering exhale and twitched his hips back.

Steve took the hint. He let up and kissed Bucky’s hip, feeling uncharacteristically nervous as he looked up. “You — That okay?” he asked.

 _“Okay?”_ Bucky’s voice was full of disbelief as he sank down, his knees spread to straddle Steve’s legs, crowding into the space between him and the door. He finally let go of Steve’s shoulders to trail his hands up Steve’s neck to cup the back of his skull and press his face against Steve’s. “Jesus. I’m... I’m in pieces. You blew me apart.”

Steve couldn’t help but grin at that as he pulled off the condom. He tied off the end and threw it in the direction of the trash can, then turned back with a grin. When Bucky’s expression remained baffled, Steve burst into laughter, asking, “‘Blew me apart’? Fucking, _really?_ ”

Bucky’s mouth did something sinful with his lips and tongue as he mouthed the word ‘blew’. “Oh. Sorry. Shit. I’m an idiot. But it’s true!” He grinned and pulled Steve into a deep, messy kiss that shallowed out as he continued to praise Steve’s skill. The words ‘fantastic’ and ‘incredible’ and ‘hot-as-fuck’ were pressed to Steve’s lips and jaw and temple, and Steve, always overlooked and ignored, just ate it up. He curled up in Bucky’s arms, almost crawled into his lap, and held on tight, trying to convince himself that this was real. He _liked_ giving blowjobs, yeah, but this reaction — and from _Bucky_... It was almost too much.

Slowly, the words died out into a soft laugh. “Hey,” Bucky whispered, pressing a kiss to Steve’s hair. “We’re on the floor.”

Steve grinned against Bucky’s shoulder. “Bed? That or we go weld shit, but I need like ten minutes before I can make it down the stairs.”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “You? _I’m_ the one with no legs after what you just did, so you’ll have to go on without me.” He went limp, making himself into dead weight, and slumped against Steve until they both fell over sideways. Laughing, Steve didn’t try to fight it — not that he could. Instead, he just stretched out on the floor and snuggled into Bucky’s arms.


	10. Chapter 10

**Saturday, October 5, 2013**

_“Bucky!”_

_Shit._

Bucky had completely forgotten about the existence of the outside world, utterly content to be curled up naked on the floor with Steve, running his fingertips over each one of the birds on Steve’s right arm from wrist to shoulder. He had absolutely no desire to answer his little sister’s scream up the stairwell. But he heard her feet stomping up the steps and he jolted up to sitting so he could check to make sure Steve had pressed the tab lock on the doorknob. He had.

He looked back at Steve, who rolled onto his back and grinned smugly, and mouthed the word ‘sorry’.

_“What!”_

Viola yelled back, in one breath, _“Whaddya want on your pizza and ask GR!”_ It sounded like she was on the first floor landing, not even up in the second floor hallway, by the way her voice echoed. Thank God. There was no way he was getting dressed for this.

He raised his eyebrows at Steve, who gave him a puzzled look. Remembering Steve’s hearing, Bucky leaned down to press his forehead to Steve’s and attempted to focus on his eyes. “What do you want on your pizza? Pepperoni and onion?”

“Oh, fuck no. I’m gonna spend all night kissing you,” Steve said, grinning fiercely. “Pepperoni’s fine.”

Bucky could feel his cheeks heat up at the idea, as well as how enthused Steve was over it. “Hmm. Good to know. I’ll pass on the garlic knots then.” He kissed Steve on the nose, making his eyes cross to watch, and turned away to yell back at V, _“Pepperoni!”_

_“For you both?”_

_“Yeah, thanks!”_

Still grinning, Steve poked Bucky’s arm with one finger. “We weren’t interrupted,” he said smugly.

“I dunno. I’m very serious about my cuddling time —”

“Nuh-uh,” Steve interrupted in a lazy drawl. “Either sound doesn’t carry, or everyone in your family’s real polite. You know what that means?”

Bucky tried to think back to when he lived here full time to remember how soundproof his room was then, but he’d never had this sort of concern before. “No. What?”

“Tonight, unless you throw me out or make me sleep on the couch...” Steve twisted, rolling onto his side to face Bucky. “You’re mine.”

Bucky’s gut dropped in a mixture of anticipation, arousal, and fear. He hadn’t been this excited about a Saturday night in... ever. “What exactly does that mean?”

Steve gave him a shove, and as Bucky rolled onto his back, Steve climbed onto him. “Whatever you want it to mean. Hell, I asked Nat to come by to drop something off. I could text her, ask her to bring her handcuffs for you to try out...”

_Fuck._

Bucky had a vision of Nat cuffing him and Steve together, and he had to shake his head to banish it. A moment later, he worried Steve would take it as an emphatic no. “Sorry, ah... If you want them for something? I don’t think I can...” He felt in over his head with restraints, but that didn’t mean they were a bad idea — just that he didn’t know what to do with them. Or with anything, come to think of it. What the hell was Steve doing with someone so inexperienced?

Steve’s smile softened. He leaned in to kiss Bucky softly, almost innocently. “You don’t have to be the one wearing them.” His wicked grin came back as he added, “Could be me. Or maybe Nat, if you play your cards right with her.”

Bucky’s brain stalled that, one, she might seriously want to stick around and join in, and _two,_ that she actually might be willing to be cuffed. Bucky hadn’t consciously thought about what Nat would be like in bed, but he certainly didn’t think of her as taking a passive role. “Are you really suggesting that Nat...?”

“Wants you? Nah, she’s just kissing you ’cause she’s bored.” Steve huffed and leaned down, folding his arms across Bucky’s chest to prop himself up. “Of course she wants you.”

Biting his lip so as not to admit he sort of had thought that, Bucky tried to parse this whole situation out a little more. “Okay, maybe, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she wants to join... Or were you gonna leave me with her?” That thought made Bucky more nervous than he had been all afternoon, which was definitely saying something.

“Oh, fuck, no. You’re gonna have to chase me away, if you want me to leave.” Steve stretched forward for a brief kiss. “But maybe a threesome would be pushing your mom a little too far, huh?”

“Fuck my mom... I mean, don’t do that at all, please. Jesus.” He huffed as Steve snorted out a laugh. “But what does she matter? Besides, have you _met_ her?”

“True,” Steve said thoughtfully, drawing the word out. “Fuck, she might even be proud, you bringing me _and_ Nat up into your bedroom.”

“To the _den._ To watch a movie. Hang on. I’m not trying to lobby for Nat to stay, I’m just saying...” What was he saying, except that it was highly feasible and trying it was totally an option? “Is that something you definitely want?”

Steve’s eyes lit up. “Yeah — I mean, only if _you_ do,” he added in a more subdued voice. “And not in the den, with a herd of sisters that might come thundering upstairs.”

“I have the whole floor to myself. What will they know? But what I’m asking is, do you share everything with her?” Bucky felt like he was starting to lose hold on something important, but he wasn’t exactly sure what.

“Kinda? Sometimes?” Steve bit his lip and frowned down at Bucky’s chest. The overhead light caught on his silver eyebrow piercing. “I mean, college is the first time we’ve ever really been apart. Before, yeah.”

Bucky had a hard time catching his breath. “So you have all the same lovers? Is that a prerequisite?”

The hint of a grin crossed Steve’s face. “Not really. Some guy I pick up, who cares? And she gets a lot of guys who wouldn’t want anything to do with me. But a few times, yeah. It’s fun.”

Bucky suddenly remembered that both of them had a lot more casual view of sex than he did. He hadn’t wanted to get involved with Nat more because of that than anything else, and here he was trying to make something with Steve mean more than just ‘fun’. He was a fucking idiot.

“Right. Get up a sec, will you?”

Steve’s smile disappeared. He rolled off Bucky and got to his feet, back turned. “I can also go,” he said, picking up his jeans. “She can get me back to school on Monday.”

Trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice as he rose to find and put on his underwear, Bucky said, “If you want to have a ‘fun’ weekend with her, that’s fine. I won’t stop you. That’s just not...” He huffed a breath to keep his voice from breaking. “I told you when I first met her, I don’t do casual.”

Steve was so thin, it was easy to see the way his back and shoulders suddenly tensed. He shook out his jeans and shoved his feet into them, muttering, “It’s not — She’s my _best friend_. Fuck, until you, she was my _only_ real friend.”

Sighing, Bucky came up behind Steve, but then stopped short of touching his back. He stared at the little black cat high on Steve’s right shoulderblade and swallowed the lump in his throat. “This isn’t about Nat, Steve.”

“No, it’s about _me_ ,” Steve said sharply. He pulled his jeans up over his hips, head bowed to watch. “Just casual, right?”

Bucky noticed the shadows that the bumps of his vertebrae cast onto his back and really wanted to touch, but Steve suddenly looked too fragile. “Is that what you’re asking for?” Bucky’s voice ended up close to a whisper without his say-so. When Steve didn’t react, he cleared his throat and repeated himself, a little louder.

Steve’s shrug was abrupt. Jerky. “You know how many people Nat and I have fucked?” he asked sharply, bending over to sweep up his shirt. “You really want something _other than_ casual with someone like me?”

When Steve straightened up, Bucky rested his hands lightly on Steve’s shoulders, bracing to be shrugged off. “I don’t want ‘someone like you’. I want _you,_ Steve.”

Though Steve didn’t push back into Bucky’s touch, he also didn’t pull away. He twisted the shirt in his hands and said, “I’m not ashamed of what me and Nat do. I love her. Always have.”

That brought Bucky up short. In all of this joking — or not joking — about threesomes, he’d never really thought about the fact that if he started dating Steve, he would be sharing him with Nat. Not in bed together necessarily, but just in everyday life. In Steve’s heart, if that wasn’t presumptuous to say. And that was harder to swallow than Bucky had expected. It made his face go hot.

“Of course you do. I’m not judging. I’m not. But if I’m just another casual fuck for you guys, I’d rather...” He stepped just a little closer to rest his forehead on the top of Steve’s head. “You’re my best friend, Steve.”

Steve let out a ragged breath. “Then don’t — don’t...” He muttered something under his breath — again, not in English. “Don’t _judge_ us. Okay?” he asked a little desperately.

“Jesus, Steve... I’m _not._ The problem is _me._ I just don’t work like you do. If it’s not something that feels, I dunno, the _opposite_ of casual, I don’t go near it. But you feel...” Bucky shut up before he started to admit feelings that he was now worried Steve didn’t reciprocate.

“Nothin’ _casual_ about me and Nat,” Steve muttered, shoulders slumping. “Or you.”

Bucky sighed in relief. “That” — he turned Steve around to face him and cupped Steve’s chin in his hands — “is all I needed to hear.”

“And Nat?” Steve demanded belligerently, though his frown was more fearful than angry.

“Is it a dealbreaker if I don’t want to sleep with her?” Bucky moved his hands to Steve’s shoulders, and held his breath for the answer.

The frown turned confused. “No... But — do you _not_ like women?”

Bucky smiled at Steve’s logic. “I do. I had a girlfriend for a bit back in high school. Honestly, I know a lot more about having sex with female bodies. The last guy I dated had one. And I like Nat a lot. She’s amazing. But she’s not you.”

“Barely. I mean, Aunt Vera says the only difference between us is that I can piss standing up and Nat can’t.”

“Maybe, but _she_ hasn’t been spending night and day on my couch, keeping me entertained, distracted, and fed for the past month. And she may be intelligent, beautiful, and good in a fight, but she’s not the person I’ve... that I wanna be with.”

Steve huffed, looking down at the shirt still in his hands. “Nobody _ever_ picks me instead of her. You ever think of getting your head examined?”

Bucky wasn’t about to tell Steve his IQ. He leaned down slightly to look Steve directly in the eye. “Proof that people are morons. Or that I’m just really smart.” He winked at Steve and smirked.

“Yeah, well,” Steve muttered. “Nat’s all I had for, like, forever. Hell, I wanted to find a way for her to come to college, only she doesn’t have her GED. Says there’s no point in taking the test.”

Bucky was under no illusions that if made to choose, Steve would choose Nat. And he was going to figure out how to be fine with that. But he also didn’t want their dynamic to revolve around her. It hadn’t so far, but things had shifted in the last hour, and now there was a decided, ‘love me, love my Nat’ vibe going on. Not that ‘love’ was the word to use, for Christ’s sake, but still.

And Bucky _liked_ her. A lot. And she was fucking gorgeous. And fun, and smart. He just wasn’t trying to date her. Mostly because that seemed like a fool’s errand. And he still couldn’t figure out if Steve felt that to date him meant it was a package deal. Best make him feel safe about that. “She seems to be doing pretty well without the whole school thing, but you know she’s welcome to visit whenever. She can have the couch.”

Steve huffed out a laugh and went back to sorting out his shirt, this time actually bothering to turn it right-side-out. “You mean the bed. She’d leave us on the floor.”

Watching Steve get fully clothed reminded Bucky he was still in only his underwear. He laughed as he went searching for his jeans and said, “You should set her loose in your quad. You’d have it all to yourself in a matter of minutes.”

“Those assholes would say something stupid, and I’d have to jump in, and then she’d be hotwiring your car to take me to the ER,” Steve said bluntly as he pulled on his shirt. “That sorta thing happens.”

“I’d be driving. No, better yet, I’d have kept you far away from the room while Nat handled those assholes, so that you couldn’t end up with your nose on the other side of your face and your teeth in your hand.” He shot a grin at Steve as he put his jeans on. “I like that face. I want you taking care of it.”

Steve shot him a somewhat indulgent look that clearly said _you’re crazy_. He ruffled his hair, then shoved it back in a spiky mess that still flopped down over his right eye. “Does that mean I should or shouldn’t let Nat do the lip piercings she keeps trying for?”

Bucky had no frame of reference for what that would be like. “Um, I’m sure it would look good on you, like everything else, but I dunno...” He teasingly arched his eyebrow at Steve. “Are they as good for oral sex as tongue piercings?”

“ _Now_ you’re thinking,” Steve approved, walking over to him. He worked his fingertips under the waistband of Bucky’s jeans and pulled him close. “Nat says I’m too skinny to get a tongue piercing, if it’ll make me skip eating even more. Maybe I should rethink that, huh?”

Bucky rubbed his hands up and down Steve’s arms as he considered the question. “That’s gotta only be while it’s healing, right? And mouth injuries heal fast...” He shrugged and kissed Steve’s forehead. “But whatever you want, honestly.”

One hand slipped free, only to drop down and press suggestively against Bucky’s fly. “Think you’d like feeling it here?”

“Oh, God.” Bucky’s eyes fell closed and his head tilted back, baring his throat. “You’d know better than I what that might be like.”

Steve took the hint and kissed Bucky’s neck, then whispered, “You liked what I did before, didn’t you?”

“Fuck, yes. Jesus, Steve. That was... How the hell did you take it all at once? And the swallowing trick?” Bucky shook his head, his voice full of wonder. There was no way Bucky could get close to matching something that good for Steve.

“Just practice,” Steve said modestly, though Bucky could hear the grin in his voice. “Helps that I like doing it. _Really_ liked watching you fall apart like that.”

“Yeah, well, it was my pleasure. I guess I’ll have to spend some time practicing, huh?”

Steve pulled back out of Bucky’s arms and threw himself onto the bed with a playful grin. “Any time, baby,” he invited.

Bucky was sorely tempted to pin Steve to the bed and figure out how to do that swallowing thing. He was pretty sure it would involve a lot of gagging, though, and that wasn’t sexy at all. Instead he pulled his balled-up shirt out from under Steve’s thigh and said, “Welding, remember? I’m kinda proud of our track record so far, and if we stay up here much longer we really will have an angry V breaking down our door at the worst possible moment.”

“Yeah, okay. Even I have my limits on who gets to watch,” Steve conceded as he sat back up. “You gonna make me sleep on the couch tonight?”

Focusing on pulling his shirt over his head to hide his blush, Bucky said, “I’ve never once made you sleep on the couch. You just never climbed the loft.”

Steve snorted and got up off the bed. “Yeah, I’d sorta _break_ if you’d gotten pissed and pushed me off. You’re like the poster-boy for the straight guy moms all want their daughters to marry.”

Was that the reason Steve had never joined him in his bed? Because he thought Bucky would push him off? Not that Bucky had ever expected him to do so, even if he’d come to think about it almost every night as they bedded down. “Yeah, well, too bad all the best guys are actually queer. Moms rarely figure that out in time.”

“Yours did.” Steve elbowed Bucky as they fell into step, heading for the door. On the way, Steve shoved his feet into his boots, still disdaining socks. “She’s really gonna be cool about us staying up here together?”

“We can make comments about blankets for the couch if it will make you feel better, but I’ve always been allowed to have friends up here.” Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he actually _had,_ however. It didn’t change the fact that he _could._

As Bucky reached for the doorknob, Steve caught his wrist for a second and pulled, then shoved, and Bucky spun around, shoulders hitting the door. Steve pressed up against him from knees to chests and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s shoulders. “And if I don’t wanna be just _friends_ , babe?” Steve whispered, kissing Bucky’s ear.

The ticklish heat that spread outward from where Steve’s breath touched Bucky’s ear had him thinking at half-speed. “You mean, to my parents?”

Steve shrugged, the motion shifting his whole body up against Bucky’s. “Whoever. I mean, if you’re not out, that’s cool. But _I_ don’t wanna be ‘just friends’ when we’re alone, at least...”

There hadn’t really ever been a chance to be _in_ the closet in this house, so coming _out_ had never felt like a thing. And outside the house, he didn’t really have anyone to come out _to._ “If the people on my floor don’t already think we’re fucking, then they aren’t paying enough attention for it to matter. Other than that... I fucking _hope_ we aren’t ‘just friends’ anymore. I don’t do this kinda thing with my friends.” He leaned down to kiss Steve, hands slipping around his waist.

“Then I can maybe take you out somewhere?” Steve asked hopefully, glancing up at him almost shyly.

Bucky’s first thought was how beautiful Steve would look across a candlelit table. The second was how he’d offered to take Steve out to brunch weeks ago, and he’d never followed through. “Like, a date?”

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Steve’s face. “If you want, yeah. I mean, it doesn’t have to be anything, if, you know, you’d rather not...”

Bucky’s grin got wider with every word that sputtered out of Steve’s mouth. “I want. Yeah, Steve. Where do you wanna go?” And then his smile faded a bit because his third thought was about money, and it made him worry.

“I can ask Nat to get the schedules at a couple clubs down by us,” Steve offered, grinning.

Of course. This was Steve. And, oddly or no, this was why Bucky liked him so much. Because he never did, thought, or said anything Bucky was expecting. Xenophilia. “Yeah, sure. That sounds fun.” He kissed Steve’s nose. “But you gotta let me take you out to brunch at some point.”

Steve twitched his nose — at the kiss or the offer, Bucky wasn’t sure. “Maybe... Though brunch doesn’t mean getting up early, ’cause fuck that, so okay. As long as I can tire you out the night before and give you a reason to sleep in.”

_Fuck, yes._

“Deal. And yeah, brunch goes ’til, like, three or something.”

“Sounds perfect.” Steve pressed sinuously up against him and tipped his head to nip at Bucky’s throat. “Let’s go play nice. Balance out all the not-so-fucking-nice things I want to do to you later.”

Bucky’s jeans started to feel tight, and his face was getting hot, and his breath came out all ragged as Steve’s mouth pressed to his neck. “Jesus, Steve. Stop right now or we’ll never leave. And we really need to leave...” He could hear the needy whine in his voice, and he hated himself for it.

“Yeah, we do,” Steve whispered with a twitch of his hips that had to be calculated to make Bucky see stars. “But I have an idea...”

Sure that said ‘idea’ was either a really good one or a really bad one — or most likely both at once — Bucky eyed Steve warily. “Oh, yeah?”

“If we’re gonna go out back and weld, it’s gonna be all hot and sweaty” — and Steve’s hips were moving now, little thrusts in rhythm with his words — “so we should shower. And you said something about sharing laundry space to conserve water...”

Shit, he’d forgotten about changing the laundry.

_Shit._

Steve was talking about sharing a shower.

Bucky’s jeans were starting to be downright uncomfortable, and at this rate he wasn’t sure he should be seen in public. He had no room to move, pressed up against the door, so he grabbed hold of Steve’s hips to make him be still. “Yeah, but that happens _after,_ so stop making me...”

“Making you what, baby?” Steve asked, his sweet voice practically dripping innocence, completely at odds with the soft brush of his lips against Bucky’s neck.

_Jesus. Unfair._

Raising his shoulder to protect his neck from Steve’s sinful mouth, Bucky narrowly escaped saying ‘making me want to fuck you into my mattress’. Instead, he managed, “So hard I can’t see straight.”

“Don’t want you ‘straight’ at all,” Steve teased, slipping a hand down between their bodies, cupping Bucky’s erection. “Maybe I should do something about that right now.”

“No, Steve, come on...” Bucky knew he was actually whining, but Steve’s hand was in the exact right place, and he had come home to spend time with V, not to get fucked by his roommate all day, as delicious as that sounded.

Steve huffed out a laugh and thumped his forehead against Bucky’s chest as he stepped back. “You’re too fuckin’ fun, babe. But okay. You, uh, wanna take a minute in the bathroom? I can tell them you’ll be right out.”

The idea of Steve hanging out with his family unsupervised sobered Bucky right up. “No, I’m good. I can do this.” He leaned forward for a quick kiss, then adjusted himself in his pants and willed himself calm. With Steve’s eyes on him, it didn’t quite work. “Okay, maybe not. Oh! Laundry. We can go change the laundry and then head out back. But you have to behave.”

“You gonna spank me if I don’t?” Steve asked, grinning wickedly.

Bucky rolled his eyes at Steve for that. Then he thought about how much Steve seemed to enjoy it when Bucky had bitten his nipple hard enough to hurt. Then he shocked himself by saying, “No, but I will if you do...”

Steve’s eyes widened in a way that was incredibly satisfying. “Oh, yeah? Maybe we oughta talk about that later,” he said, his voice low and full of interest.

Affecting a more confident attitude than he felt, Bucky smirked as he pulled the bedroom door open. “Sure. Negotiations start after pizza.”

 

~~~

 

Welding, as it turned out, wasn’t exactly Steve’s strong suit. He ended up sitting on a workbench wearing night-black safety glasses and sucking on a burned knuckle while Bucky took over his sister’s lesson. Mr. Barnes — George — spent most of the afternoon going over old, faded plans for a wrought iron patio set that he’d apparently been trying to build for years. Steve suspected that he was too easily distracted to finish any non-work projects. Then there was Viola, who had the sort of tenacity that would’ve been terrifying in an adult, much less an eleven-year-old. She’d probably finish four chairs, a bistro table, a bench, and two end-tables before next summer. Steve didn’t know if it was creepy or adorable.

Then again, Bucky had cornered the market on adorable. He kept trying to bring Steve band-aids, ice packs, and cold sodas every time Viola had to stop to measure or cut the pieces of scrap that she was welding. The last time Bucky came over with two Cokes, Steve caught his shirt and pulled him close, whispering, “Can I...” as he tipped up his face, hinting at a kiss.

Bucky looked apologetic as he glanced over his shoulder at V — who was deep in the middle of some calculation Steve couldn’t have hoped to finish before dinner — before leaning down to kiss Steve for just a second. Then he sat down on Steve’s right side, bumping his shoulder and murmuring into his good ear, “Sorry, is this really boring? We can find something else for you to do...”

Steve was _not_ going to admit to butterflies at Bucky being this close — not even to himself. Instead, he nudged Bucky’s side with an elbow and lifted his head to whisper back, “Every time you bend over, I get to stare at your ass. Not bored one fucking bit.”

Bucky’s face was already flushed from the heat of the welding mask, but Steve was pretty sure his ears turned pink. “If you like it so much, maybe you should... Hey, where’s your sketchpad?”

It was Steve’s turn to blush. He went _everywhere_ with his sketchpad, normally. “Upstairs, still. _Someone’s_ really fuckin’ distracting,” he accused, trying to keep his voice soft enough for only Bucky to hear, though it was sometimes hard to judge his own volume.

Grinning at the compliment, because he was smart enough to know that was what it was, Bucky leaned in and pecked Steve’s cheek. “Well, I dunno how you feel about life drawing, but I bet V would love a sketch of herself welding for her birthday...” Bucky squeezed Steve’s knee as he stood up, his eyes on what V was doing.

“I got that covered,” Steve said confidently, thinking his idea for Viola’s birthday was a lot more fun that a quick sketch, though he could do that, too. “Nat’s bringing it.”

Bucky looked sharply at Steve, brow furrowed. “When?”

Steve shrugged. “Tonight or tomorrow. I dunno.” He felt in his pockets, but his phone was upstairs in his satchel. “Is that okay? I mean, I have to give her your address...”

The expression on Bucky’s face wasn’t angry — not quite. More concerned, Steve thought. “Yeah, no, that’s fine. I just... If she’s gonna show up around dinnertime, we should order more pizza.”

“She doesn’t close up shop ’til seven or eight on Saturdays. It should be okay,” Steve said, trying not to feel nervous about it. Maybe he _should_ call Nat and tell her tomorrow morning would be better? But no, he wanted to make sure he could smuggle the present into the house without anyone seeing, and that meant _not_ waiting until birthday-day.

“Okay, well, text her to see what kind of pizza she likes, anyway.” Bucky grinned and turned away to go check on V.

Relieved that Bucky wasn’t angry, Steve took off his welding glasses and ran from the shed to the back door. He ruffled his hair to get rid of the raindrops and let himself in. Fred was sitting at the kitchen table with a laptop. She gave him a smile that seemed genuine — and wasn’t _that_ a nice change from how so many adults looked at Steve? She wouldn’t criticize his hair or piercings or tats — or the fact that he was screwing her son, or hoped to be, anyway. Hell, she’d provided the condoms.

So he grinned back at her before he ran upstairs. He sat down, took out his phone, and checked for texts, but there were none.

 _If you want to come here for dinner, they’re getting pizza. They’re cool,_ he sent to Nat. Then he dropped the phone and got out his sketchpad. Thinking Viola might try to go through it, he flipped through previous sketches for anything too inappropriate. He hadn’t _precisely_ been drawing speculative nudes of Bucky, but... well, yeah. There were a couple of ‘body study’ sketches that he’d done with Bucky in mind. The last thing he wanted was for her to recognize Bucky’s ass. They’d grown up in the same house, after all.

He’d torn out a couple of pages by the time the phone buzzed with Nat’s response: _That’s so adorable. You’re domesticated. Your aunt’s making lasagna, though. I was going to come by after, if the rain stops._

Damn. Aunt Vera’s lasagna was better than pizza any day, even without meat. Steve was almost tempted to suggest to Bucky that they drive there, but they’d be gone too long. It wasn’t polite, at least for a birthday weekend. Next time.

 _Lucky bitch. See you after, then?_ he answered.

_Fuck off, Rogers. Yeah._

Steve grinned. From Nat, ‘fuck off’ was practically ‘I love you.’ He answered with, _Fuck you, too,_ and then sent her directions to Bucky’s house. He remembered the street, though not the house number. Not that she’d have any trouble finding it, with all the cars in the driveway.

After she confirmed, he shoved the phone into his pocket, picked up his sketchbook and pencil case, then went back downstairs. At least drawing Viola would be a good distraction from staring at Bucky’s ass. There _was_ a line between interested and creepy, after all, even if he wasn’t too good at knowing exactly where it was.


	11. Chapter 11

**Saturday, October 5, 2013**

Pizza night at the Barnes house was always in the living room, watching old episodes of either _Dr. Who_ or _Star Trek: The Next Generation._ V chose the ninth doctor, because only the new episodes were closed captioned. She hadn’t even needed to be reminded about Steve’s hearing, and Dad didn’t grumble once about Classic Who being better. Bucky only had eyes for Ten, but he always went with _TNG_ when it was his turn to choose.

Of course, all of this seemed normal to Bucky until he was sitting on the couch next to Steve, watching him look from one to the other of Bucky’s family members as they talked over the episode, comparing the many pros and cons of each doctor and companion, and going on tirades about why the Russell T. Davis era was the golden age of Who. He was certain that he’d just reached new levels of nerdiness in Steve’s eyes.

Then Steve chimed in with “F—uh, screw that. He killed Ianto.” And the whole room turned to look at him.

Mom launched into a spiel about queer representation in media, Dad got an oddly fond look in his eyes, Kim rolled hers, Becky sighed a little too dramatically, and V elbowed Bucky over so she could sit next to Steve. Bucky wondered if he’d be allowed home for Thanksgiving without Steve in tow. He looked down at his plate to find it devoid of the crusts from his first two pieces of pizza, and then noticed Steve shoving one in his mouth as he nodded at V’s analysis of the TARDIS’ controls. Bucky smirked and later handed the third one over when V got up to get more soda. Steve scootched over as he took it and leaned against Bucky’s shoulder in a way that made him decide to stop eating. The butterflies clearly needed room to move around in there.

Somehow the casual touching affected Bucky almost as much as the intimate touch had. Not in the same way, of course, but very nearly to the same extent. It made him giddy to feel Steve’s leg pressed against his while they were just sitting around. It fed the part of him that had wanted anything he could get from Steve for so long, but ironically, it also seemed to establish the thing between them — whatever it was, exactly — as definitely _not_ -casual. Steve had implied that when he said he didn’t want to hide, but it was something else to actually feel comfortable being cuddly with a friend in front of his family. Though ‘friend’ wasn’t the right word any more. He didn’t know what was, but he figured that discussion would take a while to happen.

Steve’s mention of Ianto must have influenced Viola. As the credits rolled, she insisted, “Torchwood next!”

“What happened to Civilization?” Dad asked as he leaned forward to pick up the remote.

“Rome wasn’t built in a day. Start at the beginning, with the whole team.”

“As long as it’s not... uh, which was it? _Children of the Earth_ or _Miracle Day_?” Steve asked.

V threw popcorn at him. “You don’t know? I dunno if you’re allowed to date my brother.”

Bucky flinched as hard as Steve did, but not to dodge the popcorn. What was it with his family and their assumptions about his love life? Always jumping the gun. Why Steve hadn’t run in the opposite direction, he would never know.

Steve swiped a couple of pieces of popcorn off his shirt and threw them back at her. “Hey. Without me, he’d probably be sleeping under his workbench, missing out on pizza night.”

Viola stuck out her tongue, and finally Mom jumped in, saying, “It’s like suddenly I have even more children.”

 _“Mom,”_ Viola complained.

“All right. Birthday girl, whatever.” Mom shot Viola a quick grin. “Family dismissed. Viola has the remote. George, is your welding equipment off?”

Dad frowned. “Of course?” he said, failing at sounding at all certain.

“Go check. You two —”

“Outta here,” Becky declared, jumping off the recliner where she’d been spending the last two hours texting. She looked away from the phone only as she passed by Steve. “You wanna come hang out?”

“I’m good right here,” Steve said, deliberately clicking his rings together as he put his hand on Bucky’s leg. High up on Bucky’s leg. _Very_ high.

Bucky tried hard not to shift in his seat at being touched like that in front of his sisters. Steve’s pinky finger was practically in his crotch, for God’s sake. He had to put his mouth right up against Steve’s left ear to whisper, or he wouldn’t hear. And even though Bucky said, “Not here,” Steve’s smile was wicked and made Becky blush and turn away.

“Ugh,” was all Kimberly had to say. She pushed past Becky and ran up the stairs, with Becky following and yelling at her.

Mom made no effort to stop them. “George —”

“I’ll go check.” He got up and ruffled Viola’s hair. “Don’t start without me. Two minutes.”

Viola huffed. “More like twenty. I’m gonna go make sure my game’s patched.”

As Viola ran off, Mom looked at Bucky and Steve. “Did you two want anything? I took your clothes out of the dryer, but I’m worried about one of your shirts. Metallica, I think? The transfer on the front is coming off. I hope it’s not damaged.”

Steve grinned. “It’s all right, ma’am.”

“Fred,” Mom corrected. “I’ve got to finish my brochures. If you catch Viola trying to sneak into the fridge to get at her cake...”

“Right. We’ve got it covered. Thanks, Mom.” Bucky knew his smile was a bit sheepish, but he was trying so hard to sit still until the room was empty, which was bordering on impossible with the heat of Steve’s hand making his face flush.

As soon as they were alone, Steve turned his attention to Bucky. “You really think nobody’s coming back any time soon?”

“Five minutes, tops.” Bucky’s response wasn’t much more than breath on Steve’s lips a moment before his mouth followed. The kiss was ardent but brief, mostly because it had caught Steve by surprise. “I’ve been needing to do that for twenty minutes, sorry.”

“ _Just_ twenty minutes?” Steve let out an annoyed huff, then twisted and threw his leg over Bucky’s lap. They both sank into the couch, and Steve settled right on top of Bucky, fingers twisting in Bucky’s hair. “Lemme fix that.”

Bucky was ready for the kiss, and it still caught him by surprise because of how quickly it went from zero to sixty. He lost his breath along with the desire to breathe, and he just hung on to Steve’s hips to keep from getting too dizzy as Steve took over his mouth. Steve broke the kiss only to duck lower, nipping along the line of Bucky’s jaw, all the way back to his ear.

“Sorry,” he whispered, sounding smug and not apologetic at all. He licked the shell of Bucky’s ear, adding, “Gotta take advantage of the opportunity and all, after wanting you so fucking long.”

Shivering at the combined sensations of wet and hot as Steve breathed in his ear, Bucky’s brain skipped like a scratched record on Steve’s last word, and he unthinkingly asked, “How long?”

Steve laughed. “What, your ego not out of control enough?” he teased, nipping Bucky’s earlobe. “Since that first fucking day. You know that, asshole.”

Bucky didn’t know that. Not consciously. Earlier, Steve had implied he’d liked Bucky for a long time, but it hadn’t really sunk in how long. Somehow hearing it from Steve’s mouth, even with the insult attached, caused a molten pool of desire to roil in his gut. Probably because it was the first time he’d allowed himself to admit that he’d been attracted to Steve from day one, too.

“Oh, God dammit. What took us so fucking long?” He pulled Steve down for another kiss that ended with him tugging on Steve’s lower lip with his teeth.

“You were _straight_ ,” Steve complained, voice breaking with a little whine. “And so... so fucking _clean-cut_. Fucking shit, what the hell would you even want with someone like me?”

_Everything._

“This.” Bucky snuck his hands under Steve’s shirt and dragged them up Steve’s sides, curving around his back and over his shoulderblades to take hold of the tops of his shoulders. “All of this. You. You’re so beautiful.”

Steve tensed, pulling away to stare wide-eyed at Bucky. His lips parted, but it seemed to take him a few seconds to gather his thoughts enough to ask, “Me?”

“Yeah? Is that weird to say?” Bucky was worried he’d accidentally offended Steve, but it was so true. Right at that moment, Steve’s eyelashes were framing his eyes so prettily it hurt to look, and his lips were wet and plump and open just enough to invite Bucky’s tongue and teeth to take them over, and the flush on his cheeks brought out his freckles in a way that made Bucky want to touch each one of them. The beauty of it all made him heave a deep sigh.

Steve shook his head, looking down for a moment. “You really could have _anyone_...” Then he got a very faint, sly smile and met Bucky’s eyes. “Assuming you actually _left_ your workbench for more than class. Unless you’re waiting to fall asleep while soldering shit and get rescued by some hot fireman or something.”

Bucky huffed a laugh at that image, but shook his head at Steve’s ridiculous assertion. “Steve, I’m invisible. No one would even notice.”

“You’re an idiot, if you think so.” Steve knelt up, but only so he could move closer, settling almost chest-to-chest with Bucky. “At least your mom knows what the fuck’s going on. Kinda weird, this being _her_ fault, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“Jesus, don’t _ever_ tell her, or I’ll never hear the end of...” Bucky trailed off as he registered the sound of a motorcycle approaching and slowing down.

Steve frowned and leaned back a few inches. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t you —” No, of course he didn’t. “I hear a motorcycle. Think it’s Nat?”

Suddenly grinning, Steve got up, leaving Bucky to shiver at the absence of his warmth. But then he grabbed Bucky’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “Come on. We might need you to distract Viola.”

For a second, Bucky had no idea what Steve was talking about. Then he remembered something about Steve getting Nat to bring over a birthday present. And then he got nervous about what on earth the two of them would come up with. “Yeah, okay. Though I’m pretty sure she’s more than distracted already with her game.” Bucky had to admit to himself that some of the nervous energy he was feeling had to do with the idea of Nat and Steve talking about him — which was stupid.

Still clutching Bucky’s hand, Steve rushed for the front door and out into the night. Bucky barely got the door closed without slamming it, which would bring down the Wrath of Fred before he spotted Nat’s beast of a motorcycle with Nat standing beside it, taking off her helmet. There was something strapped to the back, wrapped up in newspapers and lashed to the passenger seat with bungee cords.

“Hey, boys,” she drawled as she hung the helmet on a handlebar. “Am I gonna get arrested for being in the neighborhood?”

“ _Being_ , no. But I’m pretty sure mayhem follows wherever you go, so...” Bucky couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he and Steve walked over to her, still holding hands. He wasn’t going to let go in front of her if Steve wasn’t.

She circled the bike and wrapped one arm around Steve’s shoulders. The other hand slid up Bucky’s hip, intimate and familiar. “Let’s find something to light on fire, later,” she suggested before she kissed Steve, slow and thorough and lingering. Steve’s hand clenched around Bucky’s as he gave as good as he got.

The twin sensations of jealousy and arousal entwined themselves around Bucky’s insides until he got himself to breathe deeply enough to relax, at least somewhat. Knowing exactly what that felt like from either end stoked the hotness factor to eleven, though, so the arousal wasn’t going anywhere.

And then Nat turned to face him, took one step closer, and pressed her lips to his, just as short, sharp nails scratched lightly under his T-shirt. Steve’s hand twitched, then tightened again as Bucky got a firsthand reminder of Nat’s tongue piercing.

Kissing her so soon after kissing Steve was an exercise in contrasts and trying not to compare. Bucky’s first instinct was to pull away so as not to upset Steve, but he quelled that immediately and enjoyed listening to Steve’s breath catch as he let his teeth tug on Nat’s bottom lip.

When Nat finally took one step back, she shot Steve a grin. “I guess I’m _not_ —”

“Don’t even,” he threatened with a laugh.

She laughed back at him. “Uh huh. Nice change, though. I don’t feel like this one” — she smacked Bucky’s hip — “needs the ‘hurt him and I’ll kill you’ speech.”

“Given I take that threat literally, I’m pretty sure you don’t need to elaborate.” Bucky wasn’t exactly sure what had just passed between Nat and Steve, but he was almost certain Nat had just given her approval. And that made him grin like an idiot and catch Steve’s eye.

“Good boy,” Nat said, giving him another smack before she turned back to her bike. “When you’re done with him, I’m keeping him, _kotik_.”

“Not gonna happen,” Steve said, possessively letting go of Bucky’s hand to put an arm around his waist instead.

In all of his worrying about his interactions with both Steve and Nat, Bucky had never once thought they’d fight over him, even playfully. The idea of causing a rift made his head spin a bit. He slid his hand around Steve’s slight hips to keep him close and kept his mouth shut so as not to exacerbate this, whatever it was.

Nat unsnapped the bungee cords and picked up what looked like a small pizza box wrapped in newspaper — which made no sense. Bucky couldn’t imagine it being clothes, but at that size it would have to be a coffee table book, and it didn’t look that heavy. Whatever it was, Nat handled it carefully.

“Sorry for the lack of wrapping paper,” she said, bringing the package over to them.

“You don’t know this kid, Nat. She’ll probably read the damned articles before unwrapping it,” Steve said with a laugh. He let go of Bucky so he could take the package. “You’re on distraction detail, Buck. Maybe introduce Nat to her, so I can sneak this upstairs?”

The prospect of V and Nat in the same room sounded too explosive for comfort, but Bucky acknowledged there was no better distraction than giving V yet another person to fall in love with. “Yeah, okay.” He turned to Nat. “Meeting you is probably the only thing that could drag her away from her game, honestly. Right this way.”

 

~~~

 

Steve gave Bucky and Nat about four minutes to make sure Viola was distracted. Then, shivering, he let himself back inside, walking up the stairs as quietly as he could. He heard Nat’s laugh — the real one and not the sharp, sardonic one she used on clients who were being particularly stupid. Apparently, they were getting along just fine.

Upstairs, Steve let himself into Bucky’s room and closed the door almost all the way, to keep the latch from clicking. He didn’t want to go through Bucky’s stuff, but he also didn’t trust that Viola wouldn’t sneak in and search for presents. There were closets up against the front wall of the room, to either side of the door, but those were packed with clothes and piles of books on the floor. He tried under the bed next, but found even more books — and not a single magazine. Snickering at how _good_ Bucky was, Steve finally slid the present on top of the books, figuring it was an obvious enough hiding place that Viola would’ve checked there already.

Then he went out to the couch in the main part of the attic, where he sketched and tried not to be nervous about leaving Bucky and Nat alone. Nat would behave herself in front of a kid, but... well, this was really _domestic_. And it wasn’t like Steve or Nat had any practice with families.

Nat’s voice interrupted Steve about halfway through his sketch of Bucky’s computer desk. “You live in the attic? That’s adorable. Do you sneak downstairs at night to raid the fridge and leave cryptic notes?”

Bucky spoke in that amused/exasperated way that always made Steve grin. “It’s not like I’m Boo Radley up here, for Christ’s sake. It’s _furnished._ ”

“I’m disappointed, _myshonok_. You’re missing out on an opportunity,” she scolded as she jogged up the stairs. “Steve, you’ve gotta start being a bad influence on him already.”

“Fuck, Nat. Gimme time,” Steve said, abandoning his drawing. He stood up and smiled at them, more than a little relieved.

“He’s already got me swearing like a sailor, and, well... yeah.” Bucky scratched the back of his head and looked adorably embarrassed by whatever he was thinking. Which was pretty fucking obvious to Steve. And Nat, judging by the way she was grinning.

“You can convince me to go easy on you,” Nat said, lifting a hand to trail her fingers up the sloped ceiling. “It’s cozy up here. Definitely not a serial killer’s breeding den. You’re probably safe to keep him, Steve.”

“Fuck safe. I’m keeping him anyway.” Steve circled around the couch and went to give her a hug, closing his eyes as he did. He’d missed her, even with this new closeness he had with Bucky. He’d never been apart from her for so long.

After a moment, Bucky broke the silence as he stepped back toward the stairs. “I’m being an awful host. You two want anything to drink? Soda? Juice? Uh...coffee? I’m not sure what we have in the way of alcohol...”

“Hey. No running off.” Steve let go with one arm and reached for Bucky’s hand. “Get back here.”

“I just didn’t want to... Yeah, okay.” Bucky took hold of Steve’s hand and let himself be pulled close.

“So, you two worked things out, hmm?” Natasha asked.

Steve looked up at Bucky, feeling a twinge of nervousness. “Yeah... Should we go sit down? Maybe somewhere private?”

Bucky looked quizzically at Steve, then headed to his bedroom, pulling Steve along with him. Steve caught Nat’s hand, making sure she didn’t do anything stupidly noble, like offer to go away — not that she would, until she was sure Steve was actually okay. “There’s nowhere to sit but the bed...”

“Yeah, I had to stick Viola’s present under there,” Steve said apologetically as Nat kicked the bedroom door closed.

“She’s adorable,” Nat said, circling around to sit on the edge of the bed. “Can I have her? She can be the shop mascot.”

“Not for another eight years — uh, seven.” The grin on Bucky’s face was somehow stern. “But then you won’t be able to get rid of her.”

“I’ll mark my calendar,” Nat promised.

“She will, too.” Steve hopped up onto the bed and kicked off his boots. “Wait ’til you meet his mom, Nat. She’s awesome, too.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and flopped down on the bed next to Steve, covering the top half of his face with his arm. “Oh, God. No. Leave my mom out of this. I never should have introduced you.”

Steve grinned and sprawled next to Bucky, poking at his side. “But she worries about you, Bucky. Wants to make sure you’ve got a good supply of condoms and everything.”

“Really?” Nat asked, and Steve glanced back to see that wicked grin he adored. “Aww.”

Twitching his elbows down to cover his ribs, Bucky used his annoyed-but-not-really voice. “Stop, both of you, or I’m calling this playdate off.”

 _Uh oh,_ Steve thought, hiding a grin.

Right on cue, Natasha got off the bed, only to throw herself down on Bucky’s other side. “Playdate, hmm?” she purred.

Bucky looked from one to the other of them and seemed to tense up in the shoulders. “You know, like when kids’ parents set up a time for them to go over to each other’s house...? I didn’t...” He looked pleadingly at Steve.

Sympathetically, Steve leaned in and whispered, “Easy, baby. Nobody’s gonna do anything without your okay.”

Bucky huffed out a breath and reached for Steve’s hand. “I already said I draw the line at being handcuffed.”

“Damn,” Nat said deadpan. “We’ll have to find something else to play with.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed at her, then a grin spread across one side of his face. “I mean, _you_ can wear them; that’s fine with me...”

“I prefer to be on top,” she said truthfully, inching closer so she could slide her leg over Bucky’s. “You can blame Steve for that.”

Distracted by Nat’s words enough to allow her to pin down his right side, Bucky turned to Steve with a very clear what-the-fuck-does-that-mean look on his face. Steve smiled — hopefully in a reassuring way, but he wasn’t so good at that sort of thing. Nat once said Steve’s ‘reassuring’ face reminded her of a cat about to cough up a hairball.

Just in case, he switched gears to ‘sincere’ mode, which he _knew_ he could do. “Nat’s the only person who wasn’t all ‘I’ll break you if we get too rough’ with me.” He slid his free hand up under Bucky’s shirt, fingers splayed against the bottom of his ribs. “Until you.”

Letting go of Steve’s other hand to pull down on his shoulder, Bucky raised his head up for a kiss. “I’ve watched you stand up to someone twice _my_ size. I’m pretty sure it would take a _lot_ to break you.”

Steve felt his cheeks go dark, and it took him a few seconds to recognize the feeling in his chest for _affection_. To date, Nat had been the only one who believed in Steve, even if she was also the one who most frequently saved his ass. Even Aunt Vera thought Steve had no business... well, being who he was.

But before he could say anything, Nat leaned in close to Bucky’s other side and stage-whispered, “Bet you and I could give it a good shot, _myshonok_. Maybe it should be Steve between us?”

 

~~~

 

Everything in Bucky shifted at hearing that. He could breathe easier, and the tension in him dissipated — and the tightness of his pants increased. Because, honestly, he’d never been against the idea of the three of them together. He’d just been worried about how casual it had sounded before, when Steve had talked about sharing with Nat.

But Steve wanted to _date_ him as well as be whatever — friends with benefits, maybe — with Nat. So if they were doing this, it wasn’t a matter of the two of them amusing themselves with Bucky and then moving on. And not being the center of attention made everything feel less nerve-wracking. Especially given how Nat’s words had made Steve’s breath hitch, which meant she knew exactly what he liked, and presumably knew how to give it to him.

_Win._

“Nat, you’re a genius.” Bucky leaned over to kiss her cheek, then hopped up to get on Steve’s other side.

Steve didn’t hesitate to roll over, right into Natasha’s arms, and Bucky might’ve felt left out as they kissed, if not for the way Steve deliberately arched his back and pressed his ass right up against Bucky’s body. When Bucky didn’t move closer, Steve reached back, flailing a little, and scratched insistently at Bucky’s jeans.

That was a clear enough invitation from him. Bucky pressed himself up against Steve’s back and kissed the nape of his neck, taking care to keep his hand on Steve’s hip. Steve made an insistent little noise that wasn’t completely muffled by the way Natasha was kissing him, and he shifted up on the bed just a little, so he could bow his head and bare his nape even more. His hand crept up, caught Bucky’s belt loop, then grabbed hold of his waistband, pinning their bodies together even when Nat’s hand slid between them. Her knuckles rubbed against Bucky’s chest as she petted Steve’s back, though the touch felt deliberate, like she was conscious of Bucky’s position. Bucky didn’t want to presume that she wanted him to touch her, however, so he kept his attentions on Steve.

Steve pulled away from the kiss, almost cracking Bucky in the nose with his skull. “Door? Locked?”

_Shit. Right._

That was necessary. “Thanks. Be right back.” Bucky pulled himself away from Steve and went to push in the tab lock on the doorknob. Then he turned around and found himself just watching the tangle of limbs that was his lover and his lover’s lover. They were gorgeous together and clearly had a familiarity with each other’s’ body that Bucky couldn’t help but envy. “Fuck, that’s beautiful.”

Steve and Nat broke apart just enough to look over at him — Steve baffled, Nat with a wondering little smile, as if Bucky had done something unexpected but delightful. Slowly, she lifted her hand to touch Steve’s face, drawing him back into a kiss.

Then she reached out to Bucky, and really, was there any other choice but to take hold of her hand and be pulled back onto the bed? She didn’t let go of his hand, either. She lifted it so his fingers touched Steve’s face, right over his jaw. He could feel Steve’s pulse and the way his mouth moved as he kissed Natasha.

And when Steve turned, Bucky’s hand was right there for Steve to kiss, lips and tongue hot against Bucky’s skin.

The touch reminded Bucky of Steve’s mouth on his hand, and then on his dick. The memory made him lose his breath and get hard. “Yes...” He didn’t even know he had spoken until Steve’s eyes were locked to his own.

Then Nat ducked her head and kissed right next to where Steve was kissing. Bucky could just barely see Steve’s wicked smile; he felt it against his skin. And when Steve sucked one finger into his mouth, it had to be a deliberate reminder of what he’d done to Bucky earlier that day, judging by Steve’s quiet moan and the way his eyes closed.

Natasha laughed softly. She gave Bucky’s hand a gentle nip and asked, “You hinting for something else in your mouth, babe?”

Steve pulled his head back just enough to speak around Bucky’s fingertip. “Too late. We did that part this afternoon. Right up against that door there.”

“And I missed it?” Nat asked, pouting down at Steve.

To save Steve from having to respond, Bucky chimed in, forcing a chuckle into his voice. “If you’d been here and blinked, you still would have missed it.”

Nat gave Bucky a smile that would’ve been believably sweet if she hadn’t been sprawled half over their shared lover. “I can show you a few tricks —”

“Fuck off,” Steve protested. “I was fucking _awesome_.”

“Yes, dear,” she deadpanned, and she actually patted Steve’s head.

“No, but he was fucking incredible, Nat. Seriously.” Bucky had no idea how to even talk about it, but he was sure Steve’s skill was not something to be condescending about.

“Told you,” Steve said smugly. “‘Fucking incredible,’ just like he said.”

“Keep bragging, and I’ll make you do it again to prove it,” she threatened.

Steve shot Bucky a sly grin. “You wanna show her what we can do, baby?”

_Fuck._

Bucky had no idea if adding an audience would allow him the breathing room to hold off longer or add an edge that would make him come sooner. Nat made him nervous a good half the time, but it changed by the minute whether that caused anxiety or arousal in him. And of course Steve was eager, both to prove himself to Nat and to get his mouth back on Bucky.

And then Bucky remembered how fucking good it felt, and he saw the look in Nat’s eyes go feral, and he was nodding before he could stop himself.

Steve sat up and twisted just a little, to face Bucky. Without hesitation, he stripped off his shirt and dropped it off the foot of the bed. Behind him, Nat propped up on one elbow, and she must have touched his back, because he shivered, eyes closing for a moment.

“Uh. Should probably get condoms, before you strip,” he said when he opened his eyes again.

“There’s one — Ah. Right.” Bucky didn’t even have to see Nat’s face shift any more towards you-fucking-idiot before he was off to the bathroom to bring the whole box and a handful more packets of lube for good measure.

When he came back, he found Nat’s shirt had joined Steve’s on the floor, along with her bra. Her nipples, unlike Steve’s, were free of piercings, though one strand of a spiderweb tattoo dropped from her shoulder almost all the way down to where a black widow was perched at the top swell of her left breast, just above her heart. If she had any other tattoos, Bucky missed them, watching instead as Steve pushed her back and lowered his head to suck at each breast in turn.

The sound she made stopped Bucky in his tracks. It was throaty and loud and spiked through him, hot and electric. He adjusted his pants, dropped the condoms and lube on the bedside table, then walked back out to the den to the stereo and put on some music, in case the attic wasn’t as soundproof as he and Steve had thought. He’d left his iPod at school, but the cd in his stereo was a mix that Kim had made him for his birthday a couple years ago with a bunch of indie rock stuff. It wasn’t ideal, but most of it was uptempo and loud enough to drown out any indecent noises.

When he came back, making sure the door was once again locked, he turned to see Steve watching him. “Clothes — or do you need help with that?”

“Let me,” Nat said, pushing up to her elbows. She let her gaze roam over Bucky’s body. “You missed my birthday. I get to unwrap him.”

“Your birthday’s in two months,” Steve said with a laugh, though he rolled off her. “And I got you a present.”

“ _He_ didn’t,” she said, nodding at Bucky as she got up off the bed. Still laughing, Steve put his feet flat on the bed, undid his fly, and lifted his hips so he could get rid of his jeans. Bucky moved towards him to better watch, but Nat got in between and caught Bucky’s eye as she reached for the hem of his shirt.

“May I?” she asked, fingers teasing lightly over his skin. He nodded, and only as she pulled the shirt over his head did he realize he was holding his breath. He let it out in a sigh. “Well,” she said thoughtfully, letting the shirt fall so she could smooth her palms over Bucky’s chest. “Look what you were hiding.”

“He’s mine,” Steve warned, pushing himself up the bed to lie on the pillows.

She huffed and looked up at Bucky, getting close enough to press her lips to his sternum. “There’s more than enough to share. Not like you, _kotik_.”

Steve smirked. “Bring him here, and we’ll see about that.”

Bucky was starting to feel like a favorite toy that was in danger of being pulled in two by kids who hadn’t quite learned how to share. “Guys, right here, remember?” He kissed Nat’s hair, then climbed onto the bed and crawled to where Steve was spread out, all lean lines and angles, and kissed his flat stomach.

Steve’s breath hitched, and his hands went to Bucky’s hair — not pulling or forcing him to move, but just petting. The mattress beside Bucky dipped, and Nat’s hand slid across the small of his back, at his waistband. “We’re still overdressed,” she said softly, pressing her mouth against his shoulderblade in a slow kiss. “I’ll show you mine, if —”

“Nat,” Steve choked out, bursting into laughter. “Can we cut out the cheesy lines?”

“But I _like_ cheesy lines,” she said in an exaggerated whine. “I learned half my English from bad daytime soaps.”

Highly amused with the two of them, but now focused on Nat’s objective, Bucky undid the button on his jeans and interrupted their banter, “Actions speak louder than words anyway.”

“Is this my cue to use ‘shut up and kiss me’ or what?” Steve asked.

Nat huffed and tugged on Bucky’s waistband. “Shut up and kiss him, _myshonok_.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The response was muffled against Steve’s hip as Bucky kissed up his torso to nip at his collarbone and suck on his neck. As he moved up the bed, Nat slid Bucky’s jeans and underwear off him, which made his leg muscles jump and somehow tickled until she kissed the base of his spine. He hummed in appreciation and reached back to touch her bare shoulder, but kept his focus on Steve. He licked Steve’s left earlobe, tugged on the rings with his teeth, and then put his lips right up against Steve’s left ear to whisper, “You taste fantastic.”

With a shiver, Steve put his arms around Bucky and turned, saying, “You don’t have to — But if you want, you can.”

_Oh._

Bucky hadn’t really been hinting that; he’d been going on the assumption that they were still working towards Steve’s mouth on him, not the other way around. But he found that he was a lot less nervous about trying than he had been before, though he wasn’t sure if it was Nat’s presence or the stellar demonstration Steve had given earlier. Bucky kissed Steve’s ear before responding. “Let’s ask Nat.”

“Oh, I get a vote?” she drawled, crawling up next to Bucky. She dropped down on her side, one arm around his back, the other tucked up against Steve’s shoulder. “Do I get to be selfish and suggest you _both_ fuck me, or is that off the table?”


	12. Chapter 12

**Saturday, October 5, 2013**

Poor Bucky. His face had flushed, and he was blinking but not actually getting any words out. Steve lifted his head and gave Bucky a kiss on the theory that Bucky was as close to being a Disney prince as he’d ever get, but that didn’t help.

“What happened to both of you fucking me?” Steve asked before realizing _that_ probably wouldn’t help, either.

Bucky opened his mouth, then closed it, but not quickly enough to hide a soft noise — almost a whimper.

“Or maybe we should start slow,” Steve quickly said. He turned and caught a lock of Nat’s hair, then gave a little tug. When she obligingly leaned close, Steve kissed her, giving Bucky a few seconds to catch his breath and get his mind back in gear.

“Um... how does that second option work with the anatomy we have?” Bucky was frowning in confusion when Steve looked over at him. Leave it to the science nerd to be focused on logistics.

Steve’s breath caught at the idea that Bucky was interested, at least enough to ask. He was tempted to move and demonstrate, but Bucky was too skittish. He might well bolt.

Instead, Steve said, “It’d work okay with us on our sides, kinda like we were before, but it’s better if I’m on top of Nat, with you behind me.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide, but he nodded. “In series, not in parallel.”

Steve blinked at him, but Nat said, “Exactly. And, uh, you’d set the frequency.”

“Fuck. The two of you,” Steve said with a groan.

“Of oscillation. Right.” At least when talking nerd-speak Bucky didn’t go completely blank and act like they’d broken him. He blinked, and his eyes focused on Steve, all curiosity. “You want that?”

Steve had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from snapping out his _yes_. Instead, telling himself to at least pretend to be civilized, he nodded and said, “Yeah. I mean, if you do. Both of you.”

“Definitely,” Nat said as Steve suspected she would.

Bucky bit his lip for a few moments before he answered. “I... don’t know how to do that. And I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Do enough work when you start, and it doesn’t hurt at all,” Steve said, shifting his hips a little insistently. He’d never talked this much in bed — not since Nat had tried to teach him Russian, anyway. “You have gloves to go with that lube?”

“I can show you what to do,” Nat offered.

Steve looked at her in surprise. “It’s —”

“I know what you like. You want him to learn the right way, don’t you?”

“It’s _my_ body.”

“And you taught me, so I’ll teach him. Besides, I’ll have a better angle, so we can both have our fingers inside you.”

Steve had to close his eyes at that image, because somehow, he hadn’t thought of that. “Fuck. Yeah, okay. Gloves.”

Bucky blinked at Steve, his eyes focusing on somewhere else, before he nodded, saying, “I think there are some...” as he got out of bed.

“Sweetheart,” Nat called. “You’re adorable in just socks, but...”

“Yeah, ditch the socks,” Steve added.

Bucky ducked his head as he pulled a towel out of his closet and wrapped it around his waist before leaving the room. He was back less than a minute later, barefoot, with a box of purple nitrile gloves and another of what looked like dental dams. “Here’s everything that was in stock.”

Steve started to sit up, saying, “Good —”

“Down, boy,” Nat said, flattening a hand on Steve’s chest to shove him into the mattress. With her other hand, she felt around on the nightstand and picked up a couple of packets of lube. “ _Myshonok_ , come here.”

Bucky dropped the towel on the floor and the boxes on the foot of the bed as he climbed up beside Nat. He was so very trainable. And if he wasn’t careful, Nat was going to kidnap him and keep him as a housepet.

“Two gloves,” Nat said to Bucky. “Steve, turn over.”

“I’d rather watch,” he complained.

“We’d rather not break our wrists. Over,” she insisted, smacking his hip.

Steve huffed and rolled onto his stomach, spreading his legs. The friction of the rucked-up bedspread was enough that he had to bite back a groan. Behind him, he heard tearing plastic, followed by the sound of snapping nitrile.

Nat’s next slap had the sting of her glove. “Up, _kotik_.”

“Since when are you so bossy?” he asked, pushing up onto all fours.

“Since I was about six months old, to hear the stories. You, come here. I deserve a kiss for putting up with Steve for this long.”

The mattress dipped, and Steve twisted to look back. They were both up on their knees, with Nat’s head thrown back so Bucky could kiss her. She had one hand around his wrist, and as Steve watched, she guided it to her breast in a hint that even Bucky couldn’t miss. It was Bucky’s turn to hum, and he wrapped his other arm around her waist to pull her body flush to his as he ran his hand lightly over the curve of her breast, brushing the nipple with all four of his fingers in quick succession.

Turning a bit more, Steve got comfortable, propped up on one elbow, and let himself stare, fixing the lines of their bodies in his mind. What he wouldn’t give to draw them like this, with just a little hesitation and nervousness and the electric excitement of a new partner — a new _experience_ — crackling between them.

Only when the kiss broke and Bucky ducked lower to kiss her shoulder did Steve quietly ask, “Hey, Bucky?”

Starting guiltily before shaking his head and looking up with a fond smile, Bucky replied, “Yeah, babe?”

“Take off her jeans.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows then looked down at Nat’s waist and smiled. “Right.” He hadn’t put on a glove yet, so he had no trouble undoing the button, but before he went any further, he raised his eyes to her face apologetically and said, “Sorry, Nat. Is it all right if I...?” His fingertips brushed over where her hipbones peeked out just above her waistband, and Steve saw the way she shivered, just a little bit, at the touch.

“So polite,” she murmured, leaning in to kiss Bucky’s cheek. “Steve, we’re keeping him.”

“No shit,” Steve said, grinning. “But can we get back to the pants? Or do you want to sit this one out?”

She huffed and rolled her eyes, then turned back to Bucky. “Go ahead, _myshonok_.”

Taking a deep breath, Bucky unzipped Nat’s jeans, got his fingers under the waistband, and slid his hands down her thighs, pushing the fabric before them to gather at her knees. His face ended up at chest height, and he leaned in to kiss her sternum, right in between her breasts. She practically purred and combed her ungloved fingers through his hair.

“Or I could just watch,” Steve said. “That’d be just fucking fine. You two are fucking gorgeous together.”

Bucky turned his head to look at Steve and grinned, his nose and cheek rubbing against Nat’s breast. “What do you want, Nat? For me to touch you or Steve to fuck you?” He looked up at Nat’s face as she held his head in her hands, and when he blinked, Steve could see the sweep of his eyelashes in profile.

Before Nat could answer, Steve sat up and touched Bucky’s arm, asking, “What do _you_ want? I mean, I know this is all going kinda fast...”

Turning back to Steve and blinking some more, Bucky looked as if he were waking up — kind of fuzzy and confused around the eyes. “I dunno.” He slid his palms back up Nat’s thighs to her hips and knelt up straight. “I told you before, I only know what I _don’t_ want. And sometimes only when it’s happening. Sorry...”

“We’re all adults, fully capable of saying no when appropriate,” Nat said sternly. She shoved her plain cotton panties down, then sat so she could pull them and her jeans off. “Steve, turn over. Bucky, gloves and lube.”

Accustomed to Nat’s blunt way of taking charge, Steve got back on all fours, though he kept a watchful eye on Bucky. Nat could sometimes be a little overwhelming — or, well, a bull in a china shop. Just that afternoon, Bucky had been talking about _not_ having a threesome, but they all kept getting caught up in the sex, without remembering that he was new to all of this.

As he did what he was told — handing lube packets over to Nat and working a glove onto his right hand — Bucky shot Steve a reassuring grin. “I’m fine, babe. Thanks for checking. If I’m not, I’ll let you know. Promise.”

Steve was an artist, meant to use pens and pencils and brushes. Not words. So instead of saying what he was feeling, he risked the Wrath of Nat to sit up and pull Bucky in for a kiss, hoping that Bucky would understand. Nat must have; she didn’t say anything or try to break them apart.

It felt like Bucky got what he meant and maybe needed to tell Steve a couple things as well, but their ‘conversation’ was brief. Bucky’s smile when he pulled away as the kiss ended was so sweet that Steve had to smile in return, sappy as the moment might have been.

Then he felt a touch on his ass, and he couldn’t help but twitch in response. And when he felt nails scrape across his skin, over to his hip, his smile melted away on a soft groan. Nat’s next scratch was harder, hard enough to leave welts, and Steve almost missed her saying, “Down, Steve.”

“Fucking drill sergeant,” Steve grumbled, twisting back around. “Don’t let her boss you around, Bucky. Once she starts, she —” He cut off with a gasp, feeling a cool, slick touch sweep from his tailbone to his balls.

Right. They were doing this. Fuck, how had he let himself get distracted?

“Stop encouraging bad habits,” Nat scolded. Then, in a much softer voice, she said, “Your turn, _myshonok_. Take your time. He likes it slow.”

“Sorry, Steve. She’s the one who knows what we’re doing here, so...” Bucky’s finger started out hesitant, but his touch became more firm and purposeful as it slid slowly along the same path as Nat’s.

“Fuck,” Steve whispered, pushing his hips back. He dropped down and crossed his forearms, saying, “She’s lying. She’s fucking lying.”

“I wouldn’t lie,” Nat said sweetly. “Again, _myshonok_. Nice and light, so you can feel him twitch.”

 _Fuck,_ Steve thought, realizing she really was going to drag this out as long as possible. So much for them being best friends.

 

~~~

 

Watching Steve writhe under their combined touch made Bucky’s head feel like it did when he was in the middle of a calculation which took all of his focus and he was coming up with a solution faster than he could write the steps to get there — eyes wide, wheels spinning, vision sharper than HD.

As unsure as he had been about how Nat would fit into the brand new dynamic between him and Steve, he was right that having her there as a coach made him much less twitchy about trying stuff. He just really hated doing things wrong, and he was sure without her, this whole experiment would have failed.

Instead, it seemed to be very successful, at least in getting Steve interested. The rest of it... That remained to be seen.

“Push inside, _myshonok_ _,_ ” Nat said, her voice barely above a whisper. She was pressed against Bucky’s body from hip to shoulder, and her gloved hand, slick with lube, touched his lightly, guiding him. “Just a little — enough for you to both feel it.”

Bucky stared in awe at his finger as the tip entered Steve. He wanted to close his eyes to concentrate on how tight it felt, but the sight was too fascinating. And then the noise Steve made was so hot Bucky almost groaned along with him. Instead he let his mouth hang open and reminded himself to breathe. “Fuck, Nat.”

“Soon,” she promised, extending one finger along Bucky’s. “Out, then in, not too deep. Feel how he’s pushing back against you? He wants you to rush.” She ended her words with a press of lips against Bucky’s ear, and when her tongue flicked out, Bucky felt a shock of sensation race through his body. “Don’t let him. Take all the time you want.”

Letting out a huff of breath he’d been holding for too long, Bucky replied, “You assume I have a lot more patience than I do. Also, you aren’t helping with that.” He raised his shoulder to his ear to block her attack, but reached to hold onto her knee with his free hand so she stayed right with him as he did what she said.

“Fuck patience,” Steve said, voice muffled against the comforter. “Fucking hell, Nat, you know better.”

“It’s his first time. We’re not teaching him bad habits,” Nat scolded, ducking her head to kiss Bucky’s shoulder. “Isn’t that right?”

“Which part?” Bucky had disregarded Steve and Nat’s bickering to focus on the drag of his finger against the inside of Steve and the way his hips rocked in response. The rhythm was mesmerizing.

“Good habits,” she said with another kiss. “He can come just like this, you know. It takes time and patience —”

“Oh, fuck that,” Steve said, his voice full of tension.

Nat huffed, and the next time Bucky pushed back inside, she slid her finger in with his. _That_ was a mindblowing sight. Especially when Steve’s breath caught, and Bucky felt his body tighten up for one heartbeat before relaxing. Accepting them inside.

_Jesus._

Awe. Bucky was just filled with awe at the whole thing. How Nat could act like this was normal was beyond him. The two of them together were changing the shape of Steve’s body, and he was letting them because he _liked_ how it felt to be entered. So fucking beautiful. “You all right, Steve?”

Steve dragged in a breath, and Bucky swore he could feel the shift inside Steve’s body. “Fuck. Don’t fucking stop. Don’t you _dare_ —”

“Language,” Nat scolded, her grin full of satisfaction. She was gorgeous when she was driving Steve insane. For a split second, Bucky wished it was him she was focused on, but then he came to his senses. She’d be relentless, and he’d fall apart on contact.

“Next — next time,” Steve said, sounding like it took all his concentration to get his words out, “we do this to you, Nat.”

She huffed, still grinning. “If that’s how you’re going to be... A little deeper, Bucky. And then press down, lightly.”

“Come with me, Nat.” Bucky slid his hand up her thigh as he pressed his finger, covered by hers, further in and bent it slightly.

“I’m right here, _myshonok_ _,_ ” she whispered, setting the rhythm for their movements. When Steve let out a sharp, desperate groan, Nat said, “There. Feel that? Light strokes to start — and not too much. We don’t want him finishing before we’ve really started.”

And _that_ had to be Steve’s prostate. Holy shit. There wasn’t much room to feel around and get a better sense of it, but Bucky could tell the difference between when he was pressing against it and when he wasn’t. And not just because of Steve’s reactions, which were deeply satisfying.

No wonder Nat liked this game. He turned his head to grin at her, eyebrows raised in victory, and when she asked, “See?” he kissed her in response, messy and desperate, tongue matching the rhythm of their hands.

He tried to put his gratitude for her behind his licks and nips, and by the way she responded, with a controlled passion he could only hope to achieve, he thought she understood. Except now he was distracted, and Steve was swearing at them, hips pushing back so hard that Nat had her free hand braced on his ass to try and keep him still.

Finally, Nat broke into a laugh and stilled their hands. She gave Bucky another kiss, this one quick and sweet, and asked, “Want to fuck him, _myshonok_?”

Bucky froze, brain grinding to a halt. He’d forgotten that was what all this was for. He felt his face heat up, and then chastised himself for feeling embarrassment after having gotten this far. “Well, wasn’t that the point?”

“Just making sure. We could do this” — she deliberately pushed her fingertip down on Bucky’s, and Steve let out another desperate moan that broke into muffled swearing and threats — “all night, if you’d rather.”

“I mean, I’m fascinated and could experiment forever, but what about you? You wanted to...” For a second he couldn’t remember how it was supposed to go. In series. That was it. “For Steve to fuck you. Right?”

“Mm-hmm.” She kissed Bucky one last time as she eased her finger out of Steve’s body. Then she pulled off the glove, turning it inside-out with a snap, and dropped it aside. “Don’t let him get bored,” she told Bucky as she settled on her side next to Steve. Her foot brushed against Bucky’s leg as she rolled over and pulled Steve into a kiss. Bucky grabbed hold of her heel to not let himself get nervous without her to guide him. Because there was now more room for him to move around, he explored the shape and size of what he could feel of the prostate, keeping his touch gentle.

Though he was mapping what his finger felt in his mind’s eye, his gaze was locked to Nat and Steve as they kissed. Steve shifted his weight to one arm so he could tease his fingers over Nat’s breast, and Bucky might have felt left out, if not for the way Steve kept pressing back against his hand, as if demanding more. He was pretty sure Nat didn’t want him to give Steve what he wanted, at least not yet, so he didn’t change what he was doing, just made minor variations in the pressure and duration and rhythm of his strokes.

He was so caught up in what he was feeling that Natasha’s gasp caught him by surprise. He looked and saw she’d pulled away from Steve’s kiss, and she had one hand down between her legs, fingers lost in short, dark red curls. She spread her legs and lifted her hips, pushing two fingers into her own body, while Steve twisted to get his mouth on her breast.

_Fuck._

Talk about gorgeous. He knew exactly what that felt like, and part of him wished it was his fingers inside her, the prospect of her wet heat making him salivate. And then he remembered his task, and, once again following her example, he pulled out of Steve far enough to fit a second finger in.

Steve gasped, lifting his head long enough to say, “Bucky. Bucky, don’t fucking stop,” before Nat shushed him.

“Let him play,” she scolded, twisting her fingers into Steve’s hair. She gave a sharp tug to pull him back down to her breast, then gave Bucky a wicked smirk.

Bucky grinned back at her, certain he couldn’t keep a hungry look out of his eyes, and slowed his movements inside Steve so she’d have some time to play as well. He knew once he actually pushed himself inside he wouldn’t last very long, so this was the only way he knew to prolong everything.

By the time Nat moved again, both Bucky and Steve were struggling for breath. Steve’s body had relaxed enough to tempt Bucky to use three fingers, but he didn’t want to take the risk of hurting Steve. Instead, he continued experimenting with pressure and rhythm, losing himself in learning everything he could about Steve’s body.

“Easy. Out, Bucky, nice and slow,” Nat said — and when had she sat up beside him? With one hand on his wrist, she guided his fingers out of Steve’s body, then whispered, “Glove off,” before she kissed him.

He was so far inside his head that it took him a second to respond to the kiss but he caught up to her rhythm until, all too soon, she pulled away. “Hey.” He smiled at her, feeling as though his focus had gone a little fuzzy.

“Glove, sweetheart,” she prompted. He felt himself blush, remembering her words on the other side of their kiss, but he’d barely taken hold of the glove’s cuff when her hand slid between his legs, cupping his balls.

He jumped at the sensation, having virtually forgotten he had a body past his hands and his mouth. His arousal, which had been keeping a low profile on a feedback loop loosely connected to what he was doing to Steve, spiked hard and took his breath. “Fuck, Nat.”

Her hand moved up, fingers curling around his length, and she laughed quietly. “Next time, if you want. This” — she swept her fingers up, over, and back down again — “feels like fun.”

Eyes rolling back in his head, Bucky bit back a groan. “Yes. It does. But Nat... you gotta stop or I’ll...”

“Next time,” she promised, taking her hand away. Bucky opened his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to hold back his arousal. Nat was moving around on the bed, but he didn’t know why, until she pressed a condom into his hand. “I’m guessing you’d rather do that, hmm?”

“No, but I’d better, or all that work will have been for nothing.” Bucky nodded towards Steve’s ass as he tore open the packet. “Should you...get comfortable before I... do this? I’m not gonna last long...” He didn’t look up from unrolling the condom as his cheeks flushed hot at his admission.

Steve huffed, saying, “You’ll be fine. Perfect. Fuck. Just _having_ you will be fucking perfect.”

“Next time, I get you both,” Nat said, giving Steve a push so he knelt upright. Bucky couldn’t see what she did, but it made Steve gasp and arch his back, throwing his head against Bucky’s shoulder. “Good boy,” she said softly. “Missed this.”

Right. Not only were they good at this generally; they were really familiar with fucking each other. What the hell was he doing here? If Steve’s head hadn’t been resting on him, he would have backed off the bed.

“You want me first or Bucky?” Nat continued over the sound of ripping foil.

“Bucky. Fuck, yeah.” Steve rolled his spine, pressing his ass against Bucky’s body, and twisted to kiss his jaw and chin.

“You sure?” Bucky leaned down to catch Steve’s mouth as his hands went to Steve’s hips. He couldn’t quite understand the vote of confidence Steve’s choice implied.

Steve actually whined into the kiss. “Yeah. Please?”

“Oh, not the poor puppy dog routine,” Nat drawled, though she shot Bucky a quick, playful wink. “You can always have me instead, _myshonok_. It can be Steve’s turn to watch.”

Bucky huffed out a laugh as Steve whined even louder, protesting, “Nat. C’mon. I saw him first.”

“I _kissed_ him first,” she countered.

“Stop fighting over me, or I’ll kick you both out right now.” Bucky was grinning too hard for the threat to have any real impact, but it made him nervous when they started that sort of talk. The last thing he wanted was to be a wedge between them — or torn in two in a tug-of-war. It wasn’t an accident that he wasn’t the one in the middle right then. Though, to be fair, it felt good knowing they really did want him involved. He ran his hands up Steve’s sides and back until they rested on his shoulders. “Nat, walk me through this. I don’t want to hurt him.”

She smiled in approval, gave Steve a quick kiss, and then moved to Bucky’s side. Steve got back down to all fours, back arched to raise his hips. He spread his legs wide, drawing Bucky’s eyes down. Nat brushed her hand over Steve’s hip to his ass, pushing just enough to give Bucky a better view.

“Short, easy thrusts. He knows to push back if he wants this. Right, Steve?” she asked

“Fuck you, if you make him take his fucking time,” Steve swore into the blankets.

Nat grinned. “Isn’t he sweet?”

Bucky grinned back. “I don’t want to torture him, Nat. Come on. Just...” He wasn’t even sure what he was asking. It couldn’t be that hard. Steve was just so thin, and Bucky was, well, thick, and he really didn’t want to make this at all painful.

“Okay. Shh,” she said softly, wrapping one arm around Bucky’s waist. She pressed her lips to his neck as if to distract him from the feel of her fingers around the base of his dick. It didn’t work, and Bucky had to bite back a gasp as she subtly moved him. He had to close his eyes when he felt the first brush against Steve’s body. “Steve? Need more lube?”

“Fucking screw that,” Steve growled.

Nat laughed softly, and her hand went still. “Push back then, _kotik_.”

Bucky bit down on his lip as Steve backed against him, and Nat’s hand on his waist pushed forward, and for a few seconds, all he felt was resistance. His breath lodged in his throat. He was too big. There was no way he’d possibly fit.

And then, he did — just the head, trapped tightly in place, and another push sent him deeper, a slide with enough friction to make him see stars. Over the sound of his pulse thundering in his ears, he could barely hear Steve swearing, but that registered as a good thing. He looked down at where he entered Steve’s body and the sight — along with the sensation — made him dizzy. He was so fucking turned on everything was on the verge of hurting.

Then Steve started to move again, and Bucky gasped out, “Wait! Fuck. Hold on.”

Everyone went still. Nat’s hand moved from Bucky’s waist to rub circles on his back. Steve lifted his head and asked, “Buck?”

“Do you need to stop?” Nat added.

“No, just... Jesus. I’ll be... Gimme a...” Bucky wasn’t quite able to catch his breath with the intensity of sensation he was trying to process. He felt like an idiot, frozen there, but any movement would be too much. And having their focus on him made him feel worse. “Kiss him for a minute.”

She moved to lie down, nails scratching lightly across Bucky’s back and hip, then drew one leg back so she could shift under Steve. “Don’t move too much,” she said, wrapping her hand around Steve’s nape. She pulled him down into a kiss that Bucky felt through the change in Steve’s position. He had to take a deep breath and let it out slowly to handle the shift. The tightness was less mind-destroying now, but any serious amount of movement was going to take him over quickly.

So he rested one hand on Steve’s hip and indulged in tracing the scroll tattooed across his ass, watching as they kissed. He could tell Steve was trying not to move, but his hips were rocking, just a little bit, with the rhythm of his breath. And when Nat threw back her head and tugged Steve’s mouth down to her breast, Steve obliged too quickly, and Bucky slipped another inch into his body. Biting down on his lip helped Bucky to deal with the sensation.

He realized at this point it wasn’t going to get any easier unless his hips were up against Steve’s ass so they could move together, so he slowly pushed forward, his teeth firmly pressing into his bottom lip, his breath deep, until he was almost all the way in. Steve held still, swearing under his breath so viciously that Nat burst out laughing.

“Keep that up, and he’s never going to invite us back,” she threatened.

Steve huffed — and God, Bucky even felt _that_. “He loves us. We’re fucking awesome.”

“Bucky, sweetheart,” Nat said, smiling over Steve’s shoulder. “Feel free to contradict his ego.”

Unsure if he’d have enough breath ever again, Bucky strangled out, “You two are awesome. Start fucking.”

Nat’s answer was a wordless growl. She shifted down, and Bucky felt her fingertips brush his thighs, for just a moment. “Push, both of you,” she commanded — and there was no doubt that it was an order. Bucky didn’t hesitate — he pushed, seating himself as deeply into Steve’s body as he could, and he heard Steve and Natasha both moan, and then Nat’s legs came up, thighs pressing against Steve’s waist, feet brushing Bucky’s sides.

From Bucky’s vantage point the tangle of bodies looked absurd, and it made him giggle. How the hell were they even doing this? It seemed unreasonably complex from a logistics standpoint and a physics one. And, well, it had taken them long enough to get here, and now it was going to last — at least for him — for about thirty seconds. He couldn’t stifle the laugh that bubbled up in him.

In answer, he heard Nat’s soft laugh, and he felt Steve’s, a tight clench-and-release-and-clench that spiked pleasure through Bucky’s amusement. Nat’s hand slid down Steve’s back, reaching, and curled around Bucky’s forearm.

“You set the pace here, _myshonok_ ,” she said. “Do what feels good.”

“Fuck, _everything_ feels good,” Steve said, tossing his head as if to throw the hair out of his eyes. “Fuck me hard, Bucky —”

“However _you_ want,” Nat interrupted firmly, lifting her head so she could just barely meet Bucky’s eyes over Steve’s shoulder.

“Aww, c’mon,” Steve whined.

Bucky winked at Nat and started to draw out of Steve really slowly. The drag felt incredible, but wasn’t too much at once. “You know, I never asked what _myshonok_ means. Or _kotik._ ”

Over Steve’s groan, Nat said, “ _Kotik i _myshonok_._ Cat and mouse. You two were made for each other.”

“Fucking hell, Nat,” Steve interrupted. “Language later. Fuck me now.”

“Me? Why should I do all the work? You’re the ones on top,” she said, and made a show of folding her hands behind her head, as casual as if she were lounging on the beach.

With only the head still inside, Bucky took a breath and changed direction. And pace. He gripped Steve’s hips and, almost certain he had the placement and angle right, thrust sharply against the prostate. The burst of pleasurable sensation made him shut his eyes tight and groan.

Steve let out a sharp cry that Bucky would’ve taken for pain, if not for the way he pushed back into the thrust — and how his swearing cut off before he’d done more than hiss out, _“F—”_ Movement caught Bucky’s eye, and he saw Steve’s hands had clenched into fists in the blanket, to either side of Nat’s shoulders.

“Good, _myshonok_ _,_ ” Nat said a little brokenly.

 _Mouse_. She’d been calling him a mouse. It fit with how she treated him, somehow. And there he was staring at the little cat tattoo on Steve’s shoulderblade, that she’d put there. He and Steve _had_ sort of played a bit of cat-and-mouse before finally arriving here, of all places. Leave it to Nat to have figured it out before anyone.

Bucky looked up at her face and saw her pupils were blown wide and her lips were parted, but she still seemed to be in absolute control, even though she was the one underneath both of them. He couldn’t help asking, “Good for you?” She deserved to have her share of pleasure in all this, given how much work she did to set it up.

“Very,” she purred, rubbing her foot against his side. “Again. Nice and hard.”

Bucky steeled himself and bit down on his lip again before drawing out slightly and then slamming his hips into Steve’s ass. The sensation wasn’t so intense that it just registered as _too much_ anymore. He could actually recognize it as insanely pleasurable, and it took his breath away. But that meant he now couldn’t get enough of it, so he immediately pulled back and thrust again.

This time, Steve and Nat both groaned, and Bucky thought he heard Steve say, “Fuck, yes,” but he couldn’t stop to listen more closely. Their synchronized responses finally had broken him free of his hesitancy. Bucky thrust deep and hard and fast, and he felt Nat’s heel kick his side as if encouraging him. In his body’s rush for pleasure it became crystal clear that every time he drove into Steve, he pushed Steve into her. They were _both_ dependent on him for their pleasure.

It should have made him nervous, but at this point he was beyond worrying about his performance. He wanted to make them both shout, though he would settle for any noise that came from his movement, so he didn’t ease off his pace or force until his own pleasure built enough that he started to lose control.

He stopped, buried deep inside Steve, but before Bucky could ask, he felt what had to be Steve’s orgasm, a tight pulse that racked his body and tightened around Bucky in waves timed to Steve’s quiet moans.

The rhythmic pressure of Steve around him felt so good — and so different from his thrusts — that it spun his head and cracked open whatever flimsy dam he’d built to hold off the flood of his own climax. Bucky thrust hard once more — for himself and Nat — before he lost himself to the orgasmic tremors.

He fell forward onto Steve’s back, gasping for breath. “Fuck, you feel amazing.”

Steve reached back awkwardly, fingers brushing against Bucky’s arm. He mumbled something — even concentrating, Bucky couldn’t make it out. Whatever it was, it made Nat laugh.

Then she kicked at Bucky’s side, saying, “Off. Too heavy.”

Steve groaned, “But _Naaaaat_.”

“Bucky, tickle him.”

“Here, just...” Bucky didn’t have the breath to explain, so he just wrapped his arms around Steve’s chest and hauled them both back until they were kneeling upright, still connected. Steve leaned bonelessly against him, and he bent his head to kiss Steve’s shoulder and neck, hugging Steve tight to his chest. “That was... Jesus. Thank you.”

“Yeah, definitely doing this again,” Steve said.

“I don’t think so, boys,” Nat interrupted as she moved a foot to the side. She reached back to rearrange the pillows and smiled up at them both. “Next time, I’m in the middle.”

Bucky blinked, then swore. “Shit. Nat. Did you come? Do you want... I can...”

“I’d rather have _both_ of you,” she hinted, deliberately lifting a hand to crook a finger at them.

“She’s greedy,” Steve said, reaching back to get a hand between his body and Bucky’s. “And she’s mean.”

“She fucking deserves it, after making that happen. Thanks, darlin’.” Bucky took Steve’s hint and grabbed the base of the condom before he pulled slowly out. “How do you want us, exactly?”

“Hands are fine. Then Steve can make me coffee while I get to know that gorgeous body of yours,” she said, looking directly at Bucky.

To hide his embarrassment at the compliment, Bucky turned to Steve, “Seems like she’s only mean to you, kitten.”

Steve let out an exaggerated groan and pulled off his own condom. “I hate you both.”

“Liar,” Nat accused.

Steve took the other condom from Bucky’s hands, then climbed over Nat, grabbing the inside-out gloves as he went. “Just remember. Without me, there wouldn’t be a you-two.”

“You mean an us-three,” Nat corrected. “And it goes back to being a you-two for you two once the weekend’s over. I’ll leave the whole college thing to you boys.”

Bucky shot Nat a grateful look, then reached out to catch Steve’s free hand and said, “Right, so ‘coffee’ can wait. I want you in on all of this. Okay?”

Steve turned back from the trash can under the nightstand and grinned at Bucky. “I’m not going anywhere. Nat can get her own fucking coffee, after. Besides, it’s my turn to show you how to take _her_ apart.”

That, Bucky definitely wanted to see. “Yes. Good.” He pulled Steve towards him and into a kiss across Nat’s body. Steve gave in eagerly, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s shoulders. Nat scratched up Bucky’s thigh; judging by Steve’s shudder, she did the same to him.

When the kiss broke, Steve mouthed along Bucky’s jaw to his ear. Very softly, Steve whispered, “Wanna be mean? Kinda our turn to play, huh?”

At a normal volume, Bucky replied, “I’ll follow your lead. Just ask Nat how good at that I am.”

Nat’s head came up off the pillow. “What? Are you two conspiring?” she asked, eyes narrowing dangerously.

Steve grinned. “Yep.”

“Steve’s just gonna teach me as well as you did.” Bucky leaned down to kiss her shoulder, right on the center of the web tattoo.

Nat hummed, scratching Bucky’s nape. “Mmm, do that. Start now.”

“Bossy,” Steve accused, stretching out beside her, opposite Bucky. He ran his hand over her abdomen and up Bucky’s arm, then gave a little tug to get Bucky to lie down.

As he did so, Bucky countered, “Focused. And overdue an orgasm. So start the lesson.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Sunday, October 6, 2013**

Steve woke up to an unfamiliar, hot weight on his shoulder, trying to pull him flat on his back from his usual curled-up position. It took a few blinks for him to focus on a bizarrely sloped wall and a strangely-angled poster, and it took a few more before his sleepy brain registered exactly what was going on.

_Bucky._

Adrenaline shot through his system — not much, but enough to make him twist around, letting the hand drag him over onto his other side. Bucky was sprawled across two-thirds of the bed on his stomach, head turned to face Steve.

And then the memory of yesterday hit, and Steve grinned. He scooted over to Bucky’s side and kissed his ear. “Hey, baby,” he whispered, hand roving experimentally under the blanket.

 _Victory_ , he thought as his fingertips reached a nicely curved ass and no underwear.

“Mmmff. Hey.” Bucky’s eyes blinked open, then widened dramatically. “Oh, _hey._ Jesus. What time is it?” He slid his hand over Steve’s shoulder and pulled him closer, sighing as his eyes closed again.

Steve grinned and cuddled up as close as he could. No morning-after panic. No ‘I’m not _really_ bi’ disclaimer. How the _hell_ had he gotten so lucky?

Best to take advantage of it before Bucky came to his senses — or, worse, before one of the evil sisters showed up. “Wanna go fuck in the shower?” Steve asked, settling comfortably against Bucky. The attic room was cozy but a little on the chilly side, making shared body heat a plus.

Bucky raised his head abruptly and looked sharply at Steve, his brow furrowed. Steve grinned, because there was nothing more adorable than sleepy-confused Bucky. “Sounds dangerous. But yes.” He rested his head down again. “In ten minutes.”

Steve couldn’t resist asking, “Want me to go down on you until then?”

“Fuck.” Bucky dragged the vowel out into a groan. His voice when he next spoke came out a growling whine. “How do I say no to that? But then I’ll be useless in the shower.”

“Aww, you couldn’t be useless, baby. Not ever,” Steve said, biting back a laugh. “You’re kinda cute, you know.”

The eye that Steve could see popped open and searched Steve’s face for something. “Cute? Do you mean that like Nat means it?”

The laugh escaped, and Steve buried his face against the pillow, conscious of morning-breath. “Nat says ‘cute’, but she really means ‘minion’. She collects ’em.”

“Obviously. Though I’m kinda happy to be collected.” Bucky yawned and rolled onto his side, pulling Steve with him.

“Mine first,” Steve insisted. “Say it. That or I’m gonna have to mark my territory, and Nat taught me to bite.”

“Not your minion.” Bucky held up his forearm in front of Steve’s mouth. “But definitely yours.”

Steve couldn’t resist nipping — gently. Then he licked the bite before he pulled Bucky’s arm around his body. A twist put his back up against Bucky’s chest, and a quick wiggle encouraged Bucky to spoon against him. “Or we could just do this,” he muttered, ducking his head almost under the blanket so he could kiss Bucky’s fingers.

“Ten more minutes.” Bucky wrapped himself around Steve and kissed the nape of his neck. “Then you can do whatever you want with me.”

“Mmm. Yeah, okay,” Steve mumbled. “I guess you’re okay with last night and all?”

Bucky flinched. “Yeah? I thought it was what you wanted?” His voice sounded tight.

“Yeah.” Steve turned to try and look at Bucky over one shoulder, without pulling out of his arms. “It was fucking fantastic. Before, during, _and_ after when Nat was here. Shit, I even liked falling asleep with you, and I’m usually a blanket thief,” he added with a quiet laugh.

A huff of breath ruffled Steve’s hair. “Okay, good. Not the blanket thief part. The rest of it.”

“Did you have fun? Really?” Steve asked despite telling himself not to push it.

“Oh, my God, are you kidding? Everything about that was fucking mindblowing. You, and then Nat, and then all of us.... You two should come with warning labels. Jesus.”

Steve grinned, lacing his fingers with Bucky’s. “This mean I get to keep my spot on your couch? Or, uh, maybe on the loft?” he hinted.

Another huff, and a nip at Steve’s shoulder, before the answer came. “I’ll engrave a plaque to nail to the loft. ‘Reserved for Steven G. Rogers.’”

“Or I could ask Nat to tattoo it on your ass,” Steve offered innocently — or, well, as innocently as he could, with his own ass pressed up against Bucky’s body.

“God, Nat _would_ actually do that if I pissed her off, wouldn’t she?” Bucky’s hand trailed over to Steve’s hip and held onto the jutting hipbone.

“I’d make sure it’s pretty. Like you.”

“Pffft.” Bucky shoved Steve’s hip to turn him face down on the bed, then climbed on top of him and bit his shoulder. “Cute. Pretty. Mouse. Come on.” He caught hold of Steve’s wrists and pinned them to the mattress. His hands were hot and strong, fingers long enough to completely trap Steve’s wrists, and the haze of sleep burned away in a heartbeat.

“Hot as fuck? That better?” Steve asked, turning his right ear up. “’Cause you’re that, too, y’know.”

“Ha. No.” Bucky rubbed his face between Steve’s shoulderblades, then ground his hips against Steve’s ass. “But if I am, so are you.”

 _Yes._ Steve wiggled and squirmed and finally spread his legs. “Nat was all overkill on the prep,” he hinted. “Doesn’t take nearly as much time as last night.”

“I’m gonna tell her you’re teaching me bad habits.” Bucky was hard and sliding his length along the cleft of Steve’s ass. “Would it be quicker in the shower?”

Steve shook his head, not wanting to leave the warm cocoon of the bed for even a few seconds. “Right here’s just fine,” he promised. “Or I can turn over. Or I can ride you, if you want.”

Bucky froze. “Oh. That. I think.” He leaned over and fell onto his side next to Steve. “If you don’t mind doing all the work.”

Biting back a groan at the loss of Bucky’s weight, Steve squirmed over to the edge of the bed. “If I sprain something, I get a backrub. And extra cake, later,” he said, mostly because he was making shit up as he went. Thankfully, last night’s supplies-overkill meant there were still condoms and lube packets all over the nightstand. Steve snagged a handful and dragged it back under the covers so he could get on top of Bucky. “Deal?”

“Yes. Anything you want. Just kiss me first.”

“Morning breath,” Steve warned, leaning down. He gave Bucky a quick kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Don’t care. Get over it.” Bucky raised his chin to get his mouth closer to Steve’s. So what else could he do but indulge in the kiss? He held back politely for about two seconds before the lure of Bucky’s mouth and body and the hands on his back sent polite out the window. By the time he broke the kiss, they were both more than a little breathless and definitely interested.

“Bossy,” Steve accused, whispering against Bucky’s lips. “You’re picking up bad habits.”

“Only from the best.” Bucky pressed his grin to Steve’s mouth, then prompted, “Prep, kitten.”

Steve huffed, thinking he’d have to kill Nat for their nicknames. It sounded a lot less cool in English. “Whatever you say, mousy-poo.”

Bucky thrust his hips up hard and made Steve bounce on top of him. “Oh no. That sounds awful. Anything but that.”

Grinning fiercely, Steve pushed up off Bucky’s chest and straddled his thighs. “Let’s see if I can encourage you to be nice,” he mused, curling his fingers loosely around Bucky’s cock. He smoothed his hand up and down, letting the foreskin do most of the work, knowing that it wouldn’t be enough.

“Oh, God. Please. I’m always nice. Steve...” There was just a tiny hint of a whine when Bucky said Steve’s name.

“Really?” Steve asked, dragging it out as he slowed his hand. It took all of his willpower to keep smirking and not lean down to get his mouth around Bucky’s cock. He was _almost_ a hundred percent sure Bucky was in perfect health, and he’d been tested just before the celibate streak that had been college, but that wasn’t good enough. Not after the horror-lectures from Aunt Vera, Registered Nurse.

“Yes. Jesus. I’ll be _so_ nice to you, just...” Bucky huffed a frustrated breath, and opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out.

Steve wasn’t a heartless bastard — not completely. He gave a couple of strokes for real, just enough to get Bucky’s blood racing, and then stopped long enough to roll the condom in place. Then he indulged, sliding back under the blanket until he was in complete darkness. He got his mouth around the head and pushed down, slow and steady, reaching one hand up to rest against Bucky’s heart. Between the blanket and his own breathing, he couldn’t hear Bucky’s reaction; heartbeat was the next best thing.

One of Bucky’s hands made its way under the blanket to squeeze Steve’s shoulder, then stayed there, and the other covered his hand on Bucky’s heart. The connection was everything Steve needed, warming him right down to his toes, and he stayed there for a few minutes, slowly taking Bucky as deep as he could, then easing back, until both of Bucky’s hands went tight with need.

After he pulled off, he had to search under the blankets to find the lube packets. When he did, he sat up to keep the blanket clear and spread lube generously on the condom. The excess, clinging to his fingers, he used on himself — not much and not deep, but every little bit would help. He didn’t mind a little burn, but he also didn’t want Bucky to feel like he had to hold back.

Then he crawled up Bucky’s body, keeping a hand on his cock, and got himself positioned. A toss of his head threw the blanket back enough for him to meet Bucky’s eyes. “Stay still for just a second, okay?”

Bucky nodded, wide-eyed and biting his lip. “Fuck. You’re perfect.”

Steve huffed, feeling his face go hot, and looked down. “Or maybe I have incentive to make it good for you,” he said as he started to ease himself down.

“What’s tha— Oh, Steve...”

Steve had to swallow before he could force himself to say, “Yeah.” He lowered himself carefully, slowly, wanting to feel every inch, until their bodies came together, with his balls resting against Bucky’s abdomen. His body was still half-asleep and relaxed, and the feeling of being tight and full travelled from the base of his spine all the way to his throat. With every breath, he could feel his own body clench around Bucky’s cock, and it was fucking _perfect_.

Bucky's face was frozen in a look of either pain or ecstasy, his neck stretched taut, his mouth hanging open, his eyelids closed but fluttering, his breath light and quick. He brought his hands up to clutch Steve’s hips, which had him wincing at the pain of new bruises being pressed. It made him shift slightly and Bucky’s grip got stronger. And more painful. “Oh God, Steve. Don’t move yet. _Please_. You feel so fucking good, I can’t...”

“Shh. I’ve got you,” Steve said, resting one hand on Bucky’s chest. His heart was racing. He moved his other hand to his own cock and stroked up, light and slow. “Just feel it, babe. Relax and feel it.” He tightened his fingers as he moved his hand down, and he bit down on a cry that Bucky echoed as Steve’s body went even tighter.

Either the sound Steve made or his movement caused Bucky to open his eyes, and when he saw Steve’s hand on himself they opened even wider. He ran his tongue over his parted lips before he looked up, all sleepy puppy-dog adorable, and said, “Can I do that?”

“Fuck, yeah.” Steve pulled his hand away and leaned back just a bit. He hitched the blanket up over his shoulders, trapping some of their body heat, at least for now.

Bucky wrapped his fingers loosely around Steve’s cock and stroked up lightly, then let go and did it again, and again. One stroke up from base to head, each time getting a little tighter. Then he stopped with his hand at the base. “Lube?”

Biting back the whine that threatened to escape, Steve nodded. “If — Yeah. Somewhere,” he said, leaning down to search the sheets. Hell if he could remember if he’d picked up one packet or more. And _fuck_ , just leaning down made Bucky’s cock do all sorts of gorgeous things inside, sending heat to fill Steve’s body and choke his breath into silence. He clenched his hands, nails scraping against the sheets and against Bucky’s skin.

“Jesus.” The word was just this side of a whimper. “How do you — Don’t lean back yet, I don’t want to...” Bucky’s arm flapped out from under the covers, and his hand just barely made it to the nightstand. He trapped a packet between his first and middle fingers and brought it to his mouth to tear open with his teeth. Then he poured half of it right onto Steve’s cock, the cool liquid making him clench around Bucky, which made them both lose their breath.

“Fuck. Fuck, yeah. Okay. Hard, Bucky. Hard and fast as you want,” Steve said, words spilling out without conscious thought.

Bucky let go of Steve, which was a damned shame, then took his sweet time pouring the rest of the lube into his hand before he finally took the head in his fist and stroked down, slow and hard, then up, light and quick.

“Fuck. Bucky,” Steve said, not even caring that it came out as a whine. He couldn’t keep from pushing up into Bucky’s hand, and the drag of Bucky’s cock inside him made him whine again. He pushed back down, hard and fast, hoping Bucky would get the point.

“Ohmygod. Quit moving. Or I’ll stop.” Bucky finally learned continuous motion and was stroking up and down, but not quite tight or fast enough to give Steve what he really wanted. He was staring, eyes narrowed, at Steve’s face, his perfect teeth pressing deep into his bright red bottom lip. “Okay.”

“Not ‘okay’ yet,” Steve hinted, rocking his hips just enough to shift Bucky’s cock. He knew damned well how devastating that could feel — sensation but not enough, not the right kind. “C’mon, Buck. Don’t you want to feel me come like this? With your cock deep in me? ’Cause now it’s just us. You can pay attention, without Nat to distract you...”

Bucky found enough breath to answer, his hand going tight and still for about ten heartbeats. “Nat was additive, not subtractive. She didn’t take away from you. And she helped me be better.” When he started moving his hand again, fist still gloriously tight, he nudged his hips up slightly. “And I meant, ‘Okay, start moving’.”

“Fucking bastard,” Steve grated out as he leaned forward. He got his balance and found just the right motion and rhythm, toes pressed against the mattress. The sharp spikes of pleasure deep inside were gorgeously mirrored by the growing ecstasy of Bucky’s hand, leaving Steve struggling to keep focused after just a couple of minutes. Why the hell he and Bucky _hadn’t_ been doing this for the last few weeks, he had no idea.

“Make sure I’m hitting your prostate.” Every word out of Bucky’s mouth was exhaled on an upstroke of his hand and a downstroke of Steve’s body. Bucky’s hips were starting to rock just slightly, and when Steve changed the angle, the moans that followed their combined rhythm were breathy and sounded lost.

There was no holding back. Steve couldn’t even catch his breath to say Bucky was doing absolutely fucking perfectly without any help. All he could do was surrender to the sensations — to what Bucky was doing to him — because it was what they both wanted. There was no room to worry about coming too soon or about what Bucky was feeling.

So the only surprise about his orgasm was just how damned powerful it was. Steve didn’t have a chance to warn Bucky or cover up before making a mess all over Bucky’s chest. Moments later, he heard a strangled cry from Bucky as he rocked through the waves of pleasure, and the hand never stopped stroking him, even when Bucky’s hips jerked hard, and he gasped and swore and moaned Steve’s name.

“Bucky. Bucky, too much,” Steve said, faltering and grabbing at Bucky’s hand. He pulled it away and started to sag forward, only to catch himself when the pleasure-pain inside him reminded him that he wasn’t yet free to move. “Fuck. You’re so fucking good, baby.”

Bucky growled and wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist, then rolled them both over until Steve was on his back. He kissed Steve’s collarbone and neck and nipped at his earlobe before whispering, “The shit you do to me. The places you take me... Fucking incredible.”

Steve damned near said something he had no business saying, especially not to someone as sweet and smart and fantastic as Bucky. Instead, he kept his fucking mouth shut and held Bucky as tightly as he could, arms and legs wrapped around him.

Bucky’s arms were trapped under Steve’s back, so he leaned into the hug, letting his entire weight rest on Steve, as he inched his face up for a kiss. A hot, slow, thorough but passionate kiss that threatened to break the words free all over again. Thankfully, Steve didn’t have the breath to do more than whisper, “Bucky.”

Then he felt the shift of Bucky’s softening cock. He broke the hug so he could reach down, and Bucky caught the hint. He reached between their bodies — the brush of his wrist against Steve’s cock made him gasp. He barely felt Bucky’s cock slide free until it was too late, leaving him feeling empty and ridiculously alone.

“Fuck. That...” was all Steve managed.

Bucky didn’t take the time to strip the condom off; he just lay back down on Steve, his head on Steve’s chest, and sighed deeply. “Yeah...”

“So, uh, if we do that every morning, does that count as me working out?” Steve asked, running his fingers through Bucky’s hair.

A huff of breath and a nip on Steve’s chest were followed by Bucky chuckling and saying,  “Twenty minutes of cardio, they say. But I don’t have that kind of stamina. At least not yet.”

“Looks like we gotta work up to it, lazy. Maybe next time you can even be on top.” Steve grinned and gave Bucky’s hair a quick tug. “You can ride me.”

Bucky’s head came up sharply, his chin hovering over Steve’s sternum, his eyes wide and serious and trained on Steve’s. “Oh. Fuck. Right. I don’t—”

Steve laughed, thinking he wasn’t nearly as disappointed as he could’ve been — not with how good what they’d just done had felt. “It’s okay, babe. You really don’t think I’m gonna give up what we just did, do you? Fuck that. I can be a greedy bastard.”

“No, I mean, yes, that was fucking awesome and you can ride me whenever you want to, but I was gonna say: I don’t know how to do that.” Bucky dropped his forehead to Steve’s chest and spoke with his lips against the flushed skin. “Surprise, surprise, I’ve never done that either. Sorry I’m so...” He shook his head, which rubbed his face against Steve’s chest, like he was pretending he couldn’t feel Steve’s ribs.

“Hey, c’mere,” Steve said, giving another tug. “You need a decent pillow, not me.”

“But I like you.” Bucky raised his head again at the tug on his hair, and smiled sweetly at Steve. “A lot.”

Steve felt his face go hot, and he let his head fall back, trying to hide his flushed cheeks. “Yeah, yeah. You’re nuts, you know.” He ruffled Bucky’s hair hard, throwing it in his eyes.

“Maybe — hey — but it’s still true.” Bucky smoothed his hair back before he said, “So, remember when you mentioned a shower? That was at least ten minutes ago.”

“Can I come with you?” Steve wiggled his foot to poke at Bucky with one toe. “Conserve water. Make your mom proud.” He grinned. “We could even tell her.”

“Absolutely not. If you tell my mother we shared a shower, I will never get in one with you again.” Bucky raised up on his hands and knees to glare down at Steve. Then he leaned down quick to kiss Steve’s nose. “Come on. The whole point is to have you in there with me.”

“Well, if you insist,” Steve drawled as he sat up. He caught Bucky’s hair again to pull him down for another kiss, not quite so quick. “Besides, it _is_ your sister’s birthday, and Nat will kill us both if we’re not nice. She’s adopting Viola, you know.”

“God dammit,” Bucky’s curse was all amusement and grinning as he climbed off the bed, “She can’t have both of my best friends. I know Nat saw you first, but I get dibs on V.”

“Nat’s cutthroat. She’d trade me for her in a heartbeat.” Steve rolled over to sit on the edge of the bed, then swiped yesterday’s T-shirt up off the floor and used it to clean up a little of the mess.

“You’re insane. You and Nat are...” Bucky shook his head. “I’ve never known anyone as close as you two.”

“Yeah, that just means she’s had time to get sick of me. And hey, c’mere,” Steve said, restraining the urge to laugh. Was Bucky so sex-addled that he’d forgotten about the condom? “No need to wear that thing into the bathroom.”

Bucky looked down at himself, then back up sheepishly. “Oh. Yeah. You were more important.” He stepped up to where Steve was sitting and crowded in close. “And anyway, she was the opposite of sick of you last night.”

“Hey. You and me, she just fucks and hangs out with,” Steve said, sliding the condom off while Bucky was distracted with running his hand through Steve’s hair. “Viola? The two of them are gonna conquer the world or something. They’d be unstoppable. Best we can hope for is favored minion status.” He tossed the condom in the wastebasket, then picked up his shirt again to wipe off his hands. “We gonna share a bathrobe, or do you want to sneak out and cover me while I streak?”

A snort of a laugh came right before Bucky’s response. “Bathrobe’s at school. We both gotta wrap up in towels. But no one comes up here when I’m home.”

“Then get to it, Bucky.” Grinning, Steve slapped Bucky’s hip. “I wanna get you all wet and soapy before we have to play nice for the family.”

Bucky covered his face with his hands. “Oh, my God. How the hell can I do that?” He peeked out from over his fingers at Steve. “You’re gonna be all adorable and sweet, and it’s gonna make me... and then everyone’s gonna... _Fuck_.”

Steve couldn’t hold back his laughter. He got to his feet and hugged Bucky close, saying, “You gotta get your head examined. Nobody calls me ‘adorable and sweet’. Fuck, not even Aunt Vera does, and she actually likes me.”

Arms slipping around Steve’s shoulders and squeezing tight, Bucky spoke into Steve’s good ear. “Mom would. V thinks you’re perfect. She calls you GR, which is short for Golden Ratio. You’re really good with my family, Steve.”

Steve huffed, glad they were hugging, so there was no way Bucky could see his face. “Then it’s genetic. Your whole family’s nuts.” He had to laugh at the truth of that, and he leaned back to grin up at Bucky. “Actually, your whole family _is_ nuts. Have you _seen_ them?”

Grinning back and huffing a laugh of his own, Bucky said, “Yeah, I know. Try growing up with them. _But_ they know a good guy when they see one.” He leaned down and kissed Steve, slow and sweet, and Steve was grateful for the kiss, because it trapped his words again.

And when the kiss ended, he gave Bucky a push towards the door. “Towels, Bucky. Towels, shower, then cake for breakfast. The sooner we get this birthday done with, the sooner we can field-test your loft bed to see if it can hold both of us.”

Throwing a confident grin over his shoulder, Bucky replied, “Dad designed it, and he and I built it. It’ll hold. Do your worst.”

 

~~~

 

For all that Viola seemed more mature than three-quarters of the people in Bucky’s dorm, she was only eleven. That meant presents came right after breakfast — brunch, really — instead of waiting for dinner. Especially since she’d been able to ogle the pile of presents in the living room from her seat at the head of the dining room table. She’d dragged Steve right to it when everyone had finished eating, and Bucky tried not to stare at the two of them shaking boxes and making guesses as he cleared the dishes.

“I’m really glad for you, honey.” Mom snuck up behind Bucky and slid a couple more dishes into the sink, giving him a quick, one-armed hug. “I haven’t seen you smile like this since your robot won first place.”

Bucky tried not to smile as he rolled his eyes, but it was a lost cause. “Mo-om. That was seventh grade. And ninth. And tenth.”

“My point exactly. The other kids you’ve dated could barely get a smile out of you. With this one, you’ve been grinning all morning.” Her own grin turned sly as she elbowed him. “Or is it that you got lucky last night?”

“Stop. I’m not talking about my sex life with you. Not that there’s anything to talk about...” Bucky knew it didn’t matter what he said; the hot flush of his face was answer enough. He turned away to dry his hands, even though he knew it was too late. “Steve’s different, Mom.”

“I know. I can see that, too, just by how you treat him. I take it whatever happened yesterday is cleared up?”

Bucky was at a loss to know what she was talking about. So many things had happened yesterday that looking back, it felt they’d been here a whole week. And he really didn’t want to talk about at least half of them. He turned to her, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“Yesterday, at lunch.” She gave him a sympathetic smile. “You barely talked to each other. But by dinner, even Viola couldn’t come between you two. Is everything all right?”

The frown broke into a relieved grin. There was an easy, PG answer to this one. “Yeah. We had some crossed wires earlier and hadn’t worked it out yet. Everything’s great.” There was no way he was going to tell her she was the catalyst for that, since he already felt the need to curb her enthusiasm. “But it’s still really new, Mom. So please don’t pressure him.”

She winked, which was anything but comforting. “No problem. I’m just glad you have friends.”

That statement would have deserved an eye-roll if it wasn’t so true. Bucky didn’t usually have friends. He only ever had lab partners and study partners and folks that were interested in his projects, which was fine. But it worried Fred.

Little did he know, Steve could have her eating out of his hand in no time, if he just stuck around. And God forbid if anyone ever introduced her to Nat.

“Me too, actually.” He grinned at her and gestured toward the living room. “Gonna go make sure V hasn’t stolen him from me yet.”

“Probably too late. He doesn’t have a younger sibling, does he?” she asked hopefully.

“Heh. No, but wouldn’t that be perfect?” He threw the words over his shoulder as he headed down the hall, a tiny flutter in his stomach at the prospect of just _seeing_ Steve. It had been less than ten minutes. Man, he was in deep.

When he entered the living room his heart skipped, because Steve wasn’t there. V was kneeling by the pile of boxes, negotiating with Dad about being able to open one present before everyone was fully assembled, and Kim and Becky were taking their sweet time getting up from the dining room table, but no Steve.

“V, where’s GR?”

Viola shrugged, tipping her head back to look at him upside-down. “Bathroom? Go get your sisters.”

“They’re _your_ sisters, too,” Dad said.

“Not going by their IQ test scores. It’s me and Bucky.”

“Unfair, V. We’ve talked about this. Come on. You get your sisters, I’ll get my... Steve.” Bucky was already turning away to hide his blush. Again. This would never end.

Viola bounced up to her feet. “How about we trade? If they’re _my_ sisters, then they’re _yours_ , too.”

“We’ve already established that. I’ve never disowned them. Your logic is getting circular, V.”

“Actually, when you were six, you tried to trade Becky to Mrs. Hudson next door for a bucket of Legos,” Dad said.

Bucky looked up at his father with a you-are-not-helping-in-the-least face. “Yeah, well, priorities. But V’s _eleven_. If she’s no better than me at six, then...” He turned to face V with a meaningful look.

She smirked back at him. “I’d get more than just one bucket of Legos.”

Throwing his hands up in the air to hide his proud grin, Bucky said, “I’m going to find Steve. You sit there and stare at your presents or go get the girls, whoever’s sisters they are.” And with that, he left to run upstairs, taking them two at a time, only to nearly run Steve down when they met in the upstairs hallway.

“Hey. Did she get through the presents already?” Steve asked, blinking in surprise. He was holding the flat, newspaper-wrapped package Nat had brought over last night.

“No, I was just looking for you...” Well, _that_ sounded stupid and clingy. _Get it together, Barnes._ “To see if you needed help.”

Steve’s pierced eyebrow twitched up. “I got it, thanks.”

Through the shame of blushing a third time in ten minutes, Bucky had an actual thought. “Also, shit. Where did we put the dinobot?”

“Fuck. I think it’s still in the car. I took it out of the laundry basket so it wouldn’t fall on the trip here. Back seat. Want me to get it?”

“No, I got it. But thanks.” Bucky kissed Steve quick on the lips, before he really had time to kiss back, and started back down the stairs. God, it felt good to be able to do that. It took Bucky till he was hopping barefoot down the front steps to figure out that was what his brain had been doing — he’d been looking for Steve so they could have a moment alone before he had to endure just sitting next to him for another hour. Brunch had been a mild form of torture with not being able to touch him. And then, of course, once he got Steve alone, he hadn’t taken full advantage of it. Next time.

The dinobot was right where Steve said it was, and Bucky was back in the house a minute later, shivering from the chill wind outside. Steve was sitting on the edge of one of the armchairs, apparently avoiding Becky, who was on the couch closest to him, though she had her phone in hand, prepared to text once things got boring. Bucky couldn’t help stepping between them and sitting in the armchair next to Steve once he’d deposited his present on the pile. Steve scooted over, shot him a nervous grin, and took hold of his arm like a lifeline.

“ _Now_ can I start?” Viola asked, looking over at Fred.

Grinning, Fred waved her hand and said, “Carry on.”

Viola was too practical to play games at analyzing and choosing one present before another. She started at the top of the stack — the dinobot — and tore right into the wrapping paper.

“Is it a — Whoa. Bucky! This is so cool! What does it do?” V was tearing into the box to get at the dinosaur as she looked up with shining, mischievous eyes.

“Read on the box.” Bucky was failing at hiding his glee.

“Yeah, like that’s all it does. What else? GR — Steve — what did he do to it?” Absurdly, nothing could have possibly amused Bucky more in that moment than to have his kid sister go from giving him her not-impressed look, to asking Steve to tattle in her this-is-very-serious-voice, as if Bucky was in trouble. Correction: amused _and_ delighted.

“F—uh, hell if I know,” Steve said innocently. “I just helped with the wrapping, which mostly meant sticking tape everywhere.”

V narrowed her eyes at him, unsure if he was just playing dumb or really didn’t know about — or couldn’t describe — Bucky’s modifications. She looked back over at Bucky, then pulled the dinobot out of the box and brought it over to the armchair to sit half on his lap, half on Steve’s. “Tell me.”

“You have like ninety-three other presents to open. We can play with it later.” Bucky took the rare opportunity of her climbing into his lap like when she was small to hug her tight before nudging her back onto the floor. She turned and gave him her I’m-disappointed-in-you look. “Okay, fine. It now has four modes: cautious, playful, hunter, and deathbot. Those all work with the remote and in autonomous roaming mode.”

“If ‘deathbot’ mode has explosives or fire, _you’re_ repairing the drywall,” Dad said.

“Oh, no. Uh-uh. That thing’s _not_ coming in my room,” Kim added.

Viola’s eyes took on a dangerous glint. “It’s _our_ room, and it’s _my_ present.”

Admittedly, Bucky hadn’t thought to take into account the shared living space when he’d modified the toy, and sensing a territory war, he attempted a distraction by finishing his list. “No fire, but it does roar, and it responds to simple voice commands. So, Kim, you can tell it to leave you alone and it will. Sort of.”

“Ugh. _Noise_ ,” Kim said, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t go looking for problems before she’s even charged it,” Fred said with a warning tone in her voice. “Viola —”

“Yeah, yeah,” she interrupted. “Responsible dinosaur ownership. Gotcha.” She set the dinosaur on the coffee table and turned to her other presents.

Steve tugged Bucky’s arm, pulling him down to whisper in his ear, “Nobody else is coming over? Relatives and shit?”

Sparing a thought to appreciate how Steve always sat so his right ear was nearest to Bucky, he murmured, “Nope. Aunt Ida lives in Colorado, and there aren’t really many other relatives. Dad’s an only child. Why?”

“Just seems...” Steve shrugged, the bony edge of his shoulder rubbing against Bucky’s arm.

Bucky looked over at V and thought about how much she really was like him, and then looked at their little close-knit family from an outsider’s viewpoint. The older girls were social and engaged, because they took after Mom that way, but he and V were their dad’s children through and through. Having grown up with his father as one half of what was normal, the loner scientist thing had never fazed him, but maybe Mom’s worry was actually justified. Maybe V needed friends.

When he spoke, it was with a measure of wistful hindsight. “This is what my parties looked like as a kid.”

Steve’s hand tightened. “Yeah. Mine were just me and Nat and Aunt Vera.”

Bucky wanted to put his arm around Steve but settled for the slightly more subtle option of resting his hand on top of Steve’s. He’d sort of assumed Steve and Nat had been popular and that their punk aesthetic was just an outgrowth of their level of cool. He’d never seen it as armor against a world in which they were outcasts. He took a moment to allow his entire way of thinking about Steve to shift once again. “Well, my birthday is in March, and you and Nat are definitely invited.”

Steve shot Bucky a sly, interested look and pulled him close to whisper, “A private party?”

Resigning himself to having a semi-permanent blush on his face all day, Bucky looked down at their hands, then put his mouth directly up to Steve’s ear and whispered, “Sure? Yeah. Maybe by then I can figure out how to be in the middle.”

It was a brazen and forward thing to whisper at his sister’s birthday party, but the reward was more than worth the risk of being overheard. Steve’s eyes went wide, the bright blue lost under his suddenly blown pupils, and his pale cheeks turned pink. The pleasure Bucky got from seeing him like that with other people around, when there was nothing he could do about it, was dangerously addictive.

Under the cover of V tearing into her biggest gift, he moved his head just the tiniest bit, rubbing the tip of his nose against the shell of Steve’s ear, and breathed, “Think you two would like that?”

Steve’s fingers clenched. He turned, face brushing against Bucky’s jaw, and whispered, “I’ll bring the cuffs.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped as his heart slammed into him for a couple beats. Then he remembered to breathe and close his mouth, and he straightened up again, trying to at least look like he was interested in something other than ramming his boyfriend into his mattress at that moment.

_“Ugh.”_

Kimberly’s deep, heartfelt groan drew Bucky’s attention, and he cringed guiltily. He had no idea what was going on in the room, and though she could be making that noise about anything, he couldn’t help feeling caught in the act.

Unhelpfully, Steve just smirked and cuddled close to Bucky’s side. Of course, it wasn’t _his_ family.

Or the smirk might have been because Viola had picked up Steve’s present. She dug her nails into the newspaper and ripped, revealing a picture frame — not a coffee table book at all. A few more swipes revealed a white mat surrounding a photo of what looked like a motorcycle or a racing bike.

“Oh, _cool_ ,” she said as she turned the picture right-side-up.

It wasn’t a photograph. It was one of Steve’s drawings, Bucky realized, recognizing the style. He leaned over as Viola held it up for everyone to see. It was something out of a sci-fi or urban fantasy movie, with the bike ‘armored’ with what looked like dragon scales, complete with a dragon’s head over the front tire and horns for handlebars. It was absolutely gorgeous, and for a split second, Bucky was ridiculously jealous of V. Then he was just really excited for her to have gotten the beautiful gift, something she would be head-over-heels for, and stupidly proud of Steve for both having drawn it and given it to his sister. How the fuck was he so lucky?

After the expected round of “Did you really draw that?” and compliments, Viola set it aside and went back to her other presents, though she and Dad kept up a running dialog about which wall to hang it on. Steve seemed grateful that the attention faded, and he pressed against Bucky’s arm, almost hiding.

“Guess I didn’t fuck that up,” he whispered to Bucky. “I don’t know shit about little girls, only she’s not really, huh?”

Bucky grinned and brushed his lips over Steve’s temple in an effort to be discreet. “No, she’s not. And that was definitely the opposite of a fuck-up, babe.”

“That mean you’re not gonna kick me out?”

“Are you kidding? At this point, I’m the one that would be kicked out of the family if I even tried.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Thursday, October 24, 2013**

For almost three weeks, Steve was convinced that his life had become too perfect to believe. Three weeks of cuddling and falling asleep in Bucky’s arms, of studying side-by-side on the couch, of smuggling food out of the dining halls to feed Bucky late at night, when his experiments consumed him. And three weeks of slowly encouraging Bucky to overcome his shyness, followed by some of the most awesome fucking ever.

But then, as Halloween drew near, Steve sneezed. His next breath was heavy — not the tight chill of his asthma, which hadn’t really flared up for ages, but the thick, wet weight of something far worse. It happened every October through middle school and high school, and he’d hoped that being in college would spare him. Apparently not.

Even though he knew it would be futile, he picked up a couple of packs of vitamins at the nearest convenient store and switched from coffee to tea, but that didn’t even seem to hold off the worst of it. He tried to keep his distance from Bucky, which was downright impossible in a room the size of a jail cell. The best he could do was curl up on the end of the couch by the window, which was cracked open in hopes of letting some of his germs escape, and concentrate on not dying.

Bucky came back from his lab on schedule, an hour before Steve should’ve been back from the class he’d skipped. Steve had to concentrate to inhale without breaking into another fit of coughing. “Can you help move some of my stuff?” he asked, looking miserably at Bucky.

Brow furrowing, Bucky dropped his bookbag by the door and moved to sit next to Steve on the couch. “Yeah, of course. Wait, move it where? What’s the matter?”

Steve was tempted to come up with some bullshit explanation, but his next breath set him off into a fit of coughing that felt like his lungs were being pulled out with sharp hooks. He curled his legs to his chest and buried his face in the blanket — _his_ blanket, which he and Bucky had moved into the room they shared all but officially. No sense in getting germs all over Bucky’s comforter.

“Jesus, that sounds awful. What do you need, babe? What can I do?” Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s shins and back and hugged the tight ball he’d made of himself.

“Shoot me,” Steve muttered. “And stay away. Don’t wanna get you sick.”

“I’m fine. I don’t get sick, really. I’ll take some zinc so I don’t catch whatever this is. What is it? Tell me your symptoms, and I’ll do some research.”

“I’m _dying_.” The word trailed off into another cough that Steve couldn’t fight. “Burn the body. Nat can make zombies.”

“God, that sounds like it’s deep in your lungs. Do you have a history of pulmonary issues?” Bucky tried to unbend Steve and succeeded enough to get his head against Steve’s chest, despite Steve’s efforts to bat him away. “Breathe deep, okay?”

“Bronchitis.” Steve pulled the blanket back up to his shoulders, over Bucky’s head, and tried not to shiver and cough again. “It’s not pneumonia yet. It’s fine.”

“Yet? Well, shit. How do we keep that from happening? I can run to the store for O.J. and more zinc and, what? Medicinal tea? Vaporub?” Bucky’s brow was as furrowed as Steve had ever seen it. “I can call Mom, or does Aunt Vera know more about this?”

The thought of inviting interference from any of the maternal types was horrifying. Steve shook his head. “No! It’s every” — another cough — “every year. I’ll be fine in like a week.” More like two weeks, but Bucky didn’t need to know that. “I’ll go infect the assholes upstairs.”

“Absolutely not. I’ll call Nat right now to bring the handcuffs so I can cuff you to the loft if you try. I wanna keep my eye on you.” Bucky pressed his lips to Steve’s forehead for a few seconds before kissing it. “You feel hot to me. Do you have chills?”

“Ugh. I’m gross. Go away,” Steve said, wishing he’d had it in him to disappear _before_ Bucky came back. “Don’t want you sick.”

Bucky gave him his not-impressed look. It wasn’t as good as Viola’s. “You are the worst patient ever. Let me help, _kotik_.”

 _“Ugh.”_ Steve pulled the blanket completely over his head. “I’m _fine_. Just lemme die.”

“I’m not even going to mention how contradictory those statements are, you idiot.” Bucky got up from the couch to grab his backpack, then sat back down right up next to Steve. He kicked his shoes off, pulled his feet up onto the couch, and leaned his elbow on Steve’s hip as he pulled his laptop out of the backpack and rested it on his knees.

Good. He’d find something to distract himself and would let Steve die in peace. Steve buried himself entirely under the blanket on the theory that he could contain the contagion and twisted around to lean against Bucky’s arm. For once, Bucky was on Steve’s left, not his right, which meant even the soft click of typing wouldn’t keep Steve awake for long — assuming he could get to sleep and not cough himself awake. Then again, that usually didn’t happen until day three or four.

Then he heard a familiar voice — _not_ Bucky — say, “Hey, Doc. Calling for an afternoon quickie?”

“No Skype-fucking Nat while I’m dying next to you,” Steve muttered into the arm of the couch.

“Hey, _zaika_. Actually playing doctor right now — and not the fun kind. See? He’s turned himself into a burrito, and his cough sounds really awful.”

“Aah, welcome to October. This happens to him every year,” she said.

 _“Traitor!”_ Steve got out, though it cost him a good five seconds of solid coughing.

“... chicken soup, tea, and water. Lots of water. If he dehydrates, it gets ugly,” the traitoress was saying.

“What else? I’m making a shopping list. Emergen-C, tissues? Does he ever cough that shit up?” Bucky was weirdly calm and matter-of-fact about the whole living with a plague victim thing.

“Puffs Plus, the kind with lotion. He’ll go through three or four boxes, and if his nose gets chapped, you’ll never hear the end of it. He’s _delicate_.”

Steve lifted his head out of the blanket long enough to cough out, “Fuck you!”

“Sorry, I don’t fuck the undead, _kotik_ ,” she answered serenely.

“Hmm... Wanna come over and keep _me_ company when I get tired of dealing with such a horrible patient?” Bucky’s arm snaked around Steve’s shoulder and rubbed his back as he spoke.

“He’s given it to me a few times, so sorry. He’s all yours. Or if you want, I can have Vera come get him,” she said more seriously. “Believe me, you _don’t_ want to catch this. He’s a plague incubator. When the zombie apocalypse starts, it’ll be because of him.”

“No, it’s cool. I’ll be fine. But I’ll put a machete on the shopping list, just in case. Can’t let it spread. Call back to check on us sometime though, huh?”

“You got it, _myshonok_. I’ll let Vera know, too.”

“No!” Steve protested, though anything else he wanted to say was lost to attempts to remember how to breathe.

“Tell her I’ve got it covered, but expert info would be helpful. Thanks, darling.”

Steve dragged in a breath to yell at her, but the coughing kept him silent. When he finally recovered and opened his eyes, he saw Bucky had put the laptop on the floor and the furrowed brow was back. He reached around to rub circles on Steve’s back again and said, “Seriously, Steve. This isn’t good, and I don’t want you to get sicker. Just let me help, already.”

“It just has to do its thing,” Steve said miserably, finally giving in to the impulse to curl up against Bucky. He was warm and strong and comforting. “If I don’t go out, it won’t get worse.”

“All right, fine. I’m gonna set up _Sons of Anarchy_ on my laptop and grab a couple bottles of O.J. from the vending machine downstairs. Then I’m going to the store to get supplies.” Bucky kissed Steve’s forehead again before he got up to leave. He turned around when he got to the door to add, “Oh, and you should email your professors to let them know. They can send you any notes from lectures or whatever so we can keep you caught up.”

“Ugh. Kill me now,” Steve groaned, flopping in the other direction and burying his head under the blanket again.

 

~~~

 

**Tuesday, October 29, 2013**

Steve really was a terrible patient. He not only refused help when it was offered; he actively made it harder for Bucky to help him. The thing was, Bucky was positive his aid was consensual. It just took a lot to get to the point where Steve relented. Once he did, though, Bucky could tell Steve was grateful. Mostly because he really needed it. He was shit at taking care of himself.

Granted, so was Bucky. Not at taking care of Steve, but of himself. So this was actually a good excuse to experiment with models of care. Within a day or two, Bucky realized that using the alarms on his phone was integral to making it work. He had to basically set a timer to go off every hour to make sure everything was going okay — that Steve was drinking water, was eating regularly, had enough tissues, wasn’t too bored, you name it. If he didn’t, Bucky would get lost in his work and look up hours later to see that Steve had just given up on everything and was staring out the window, dehydrated and feverish because the medicine wore off and he felt too horrible to get up and refill his water bottle.

The breaks were good, though. It made Bucky have to stop and assess his own state as well, which meant he was actually more hydrated and regularly fed than he had been, even with Steve taking care of him over the past couple months. He had more reserves to use as Steve’s nurse, and that, Bucky suspected, contributed to his own resistance to catching Steve’s bronchitis.

At some point, Bucky figured out that a hot shower would help with Steve’s breathing and loosen whatever gunk was in his chest. Of course, he had to almost drag Steve into the bathroom and stay in there with him to make it happen. Luckily, one of the showers on his floor was the handicap one, and it had an entire wall and a full door down to the floor, not just a stall. A week ago, they’d fucked in there. This time, things would go a little differently.

“Isn’t this better?” Bucky asked, leaning in close to Steve’s right ear to be heard over the shower.

“I hate everything,” Steve answered between coughs. That had been his refrain for the entire span of his bronchitis. Bucky might have let it get to him, except for the way Steve clung to him with what little strength he could muster. _Everything_ had somehow never seemed to encompass Bucky.

Positioning them so the water beat down on Steve’s back, Bucky hugged him tight and kissed his temple, then he murmured, “I know. Go right ahead. Just let’s also get you better while you do so.”

Steve groaned, head pressed against Bucky’s chest. He lifted his hand to cover his mouth when he coughed, though by now it seemed pointless. Bucky was either already infected or immune. “You don’t hafta keep doing this. I do this every year.”

“I know, but I want you to get better quick. And ignoring it doesn’t actually help.” Bucky rubbed his hands up and down Steve’s back, wondering if concussion of the ribcage helped open up airways or not.

“ _Nothing_ helps,” Steve whined, though it turned into another coughing fit. “I’ll call Aunt Vera. She’ll come get me.”

“You’ve been kicking and screaming all week about how that’s the last thing you want, every time Nat brings it up. Did you actually change your mind, or what?” Bucky was at a loss. He thought he’d been doing okay with taking care of Steve, but maybe he was being too pushy or just not doing it right.

“You shouldn’t hafta —” A cough kept Steve from completing the well-rehearsed sentence.

Bucky finally lost his patience. “You know what? It would be a fuckton easier to take care of you if you’d get down off your high horse and _fucking let me,_ ” he demanded, glaring as Steve jerked back, wide eyed. Bucky heard his voice echoing off the shower walls and took a deep breath to get his volume under control. Then he reached to pull Steve back into his arms. “It’s exhausting, fighting you, Steve. Just actually let me help, for Christ’s sake.”

“Why?” The word was a harsh, rough-throated whisper, barely audible over the sound of the shower.

The question didn’t make any sense to Bucky. “Why should you let me help you? Because it’s already hard enough to do this without you fighting it.”

“Why do you _want_ to?”

 _That_ question made even less sense. “To help you? Because you’re sick, babe. And you’re my... person. My friend, my lover. And I don’t like seeing you suffer. Why do you make sure I eat and put me to bed when I forget how to stop working? Because you care.”  Bucky leaned down and kissed the water droplets off of Steve’s cheekbone. “I _care_ about you. Why the hell else would I do this?”

“Fucking idiot,” Steve muttered, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck. Water bounced off the back of his head, filling the air with cold droplets, but Bucky stayed where he was, certain that Steve would be warm. And as Bucky drew a breath to scold Steve into not talking, because his voice sounded _really_ awful, he almost missed Steve whispering, “Love you.”

“I, what? Yeah... Yeah, love you too.” Bucky felt thrown off-balance. He’d spent the entirety of his little why-I-want-to-help-you speech trying _not_ to use the word ‘love’, and then there it was in Steve’s mouth, of all places.

He hugged Steve tight and started kissing all over his face, but a coughing fit interrupted him, and he figured they should get out of the shower before Steve was too weak to walk back to the room and into bed.

“Come on, _kotik_. Let’s do this lying down.” Bucky kissed Steve on the nose, then turned off the water. Immediately, Steve shuddered and pressed his face to one arm to hide a cough. Cursing himself, Bucky reached out for a towel and pulled it into the cubicle to wrap around Steve’s shoulders. A second towel went around his waist, a third over his hair. Then he got out so he could get the bathrobe on Steve, trapping the shower’s warmth against his skin. That left Bucky with the old, ragged towel he usually kept at his workbench, but that was fine. It was two o’clock in the morning. Nobody would be in the hallway — not that he cared.

 

~~~

 

**Friday, November 1, 2013**

It felt like about ten years passed before Steve woke up, smothered by blankets, and took a deep breath with... well, not _no_ pain, but a whole lot _less_. He lifted a hand to his throat, feeling for any pain, but there was nothing. His nose was still stuffed, and he wanted to cough, but that would go on for weeks. It was the breathing that told him he was probably past the worst of it.

He had to twist around in place so he could face Bucky. His eyes were closed, but they cracked open before Steve could say anything. “Mmm. Morning.”

“Hey.” Steve shifted the blankets so he could get a hand on Bucky’s hip. “You okay?”

“Yeah? Why? Are you?” Bucky raised up on his elbow to do that thing where he checked Steve’s temperature by kissing his forehead. “Hey. You don’t feel feverish anymore.”

“I feel better.” Steve took another breath, and it only really hurt at the very end. He gave a little cough into the blanket before adding, “I feel all achy, but _better_.”

Bucky’s eyes fell closed and he took a deep breath. “That’s awesome. I’m so glad, Steve. I was starting to worry you never would.” He smiled, fondly and sleepily, and then leaned in for a quick kiss, despite their morning breath.

“Every year.” Steve couldn’t hide a sigh at that. He hated being so skinny and sick and weak all the time, but there was nothing he could do. Doctors had fixed a lot of his problems; the rest, he just had to endure.

“Yeah, but now I know how it goes and what to do.” Bucky let himself fall back onto his pillow. “So, how do you wanna celebrate?”

“I’m _starved_. And if you show me another fucking bowl of soup, I’ll stab you. It probably won’t hurt, but I’ll _try_ ,” Steve threatened.

Eyes lighting up, Bucky said, “Brunch? We never did go to that place with the stuffed French toast...”

“Brunch? That’s Sundays. It’s, what, Thursday?”

Bucky shrugged, whether he didn’t know the day, or didn’t care, Steve couldn’t tell. Either was possible, and he was the healthy one. “It’s a breakfast place. They serve breakfast food ’til three every day.”

“But ugh. Pants.” Steve flopped onto his back and let out a dramatic sigh that was only halfway to being a cough. “Can’t we just get a pizza?”

Chuckling and rolling over to cuddle up and nip at Steve’s shoulder, Bucky said, “No pizza place is open this early. And if you’re not dying anymore, I’m not bringing you dining hall breakfast in bed.”

“ _Somebody’s_ gotta deliver. Pants, Bucky. _Pants_.” This time, he managed a credible whine.

“Look, it’s not my fault you wear skinny jeans, and they’re hard to get into. I’d offer a pair of my track bottoms, but they’d fall off your ass.” Bucky leaned in to kiss Steve’s jaw, then his ear, then his neck. “Then again, you’ve got a great little ass...”

Any other morning, Steve would’ve climbed right on top of Bucky. Now, he felt as weak as his fucking nickname. He wanted real food, a trip to the bathroom, and then about twelve hours of sleep.

“Bucky,” he whined, striving to sound even more pathetic, which was pretty hard. He’d already hit rock bottom. “C’mon, Bucky. Somebody’s gotta deliver real food.”

Bucky backed off and got serious. “I’ll go pick something up. Whatever you want. Just name it.”

“Don’t go.” Steve rolled onto his side, coughed into the blanket, and then wound himself around Bucky as best he could, though it was more like a flop than any sort of sensual twining of bodies. “Stay.”

“You’re hungry; we’re celebrating. What do you want?” Bucky slid his arm underneath Steve and rolled and tugged and got him laying flat on top of Bucky’s body so they touched from shoulders to ankles.

“Someone to _bring_ us food.” Steve buried his face against Bucky’s neck. “I’m sorry. I’m being a pain in the ass.”

“It’s fine, babe. But what kind of food? I’ll get it delivered if it matters that much; just tell me what.” Bucky kissed the side of Steve’s head, and his voice held an extra little bit of fondness that made Steve wonder if he hadn’t gotten Bucky sick after all. Nobody _liked_ Steve after one of his week-long marathon illnesses.

Steve huffed, then turned his head so he could cough. “It’s okay. I need to shower anyway. We can get French toast or whatever. Or I can. Do you have class?”

“You’re doing the thing. The game’s not over just ’cause you’re not sick anymore. Come on, Steve.” Now, Bucky’s voice sounded more like how Steve expected it should.

“The thing?”

“Where you don’t let me help you. I’m right here, ready and willing. There’s no need to fight me.”

Steve turned and kissed Bucky’s jaw. “You’re crazy. You know that?”

Bucky’s smile was indulgent and soft. He reached up to touch Steve’s cheek. “No, I just really like you. A lot. Which is not grounds for insanity. It doesn’t make sense to me that you like me either, but I’m pretty sure you’re in your right mind. Most of the time.”

Steve’s stomach gave a nervous little flip. _I just really like you. A lot_. Words he’d never even dared to imagine hearing — not from someone like Bucky. “What’s not to like about you? Hell, you didn’t dump me out the window, and even Nat doesn’t _like_ me after I’m sick more than a couple days.”

The smile on Bucky’s face turned to a smirk. “Do you fight her, too? Or do you already know she loves you, so you aren’t as much a pain in the ass about it?”

“She fights back,” Steve said a little nervously. He got a hand down so he could poke at Bucky’s ribs. “You — you’re too nice.”

“Clearly _that’s_ my downfall. It’s definitely not falling for someone who’s a stubborn idiot.” Bucky’s voice dripped with good-natured sarcasm as he poked Steve in the side.

“Falling — Hey, be nice,” Steve protested, twisting around so he could poke Bucky back. “I’m near-death still. I could relapse.”

“Uh-huh. Then tell me what the fuck you want to eat so I can pay someone to bring it to us already. I don’t want you dying on me after you just got better. Seems a waste of a declaration of love...”

“A wha?” Steve asked blankly.

Bucky’s face went from smiling and jokey to a confused frown. “You — in the shower, when we...” He shook his head. “You said, ‘Love you.’ You don’t remember?”

 _Oh, shit._ Panic nearly caused another coughing fit. Steve opened his mouth, then closed it, frantically trying to get his still-sick brain back into gear. He finally said, “Uh. Yeah, but — I mean, you don’t need to — you know — just ’cause I was sick and all...”

“I said it back ’cause I meant it, Steve. Not because you were sick. Is that what you thought?” Bucky’s voice sounded totally reasonable, which made no sense.

Steve shook his head, then shifted so he could push his hair back out of his eyes. “You — you did?” he asked in disbelief. Not because he didn’t _want_ it, but because... well, what the _fuck_ would Bucky be doing falling in love with someone like him?

“Jesus, yeah. I don’t just say that randomly. Even if someone else says it first. Not that anyone else has, but... yeah. I do.” Bucky’s hands were on Steve’s back, and they twitched like he wanted to move them, but he didn’t.

“Fuck.” Steve swallowed despite how his throat stung. “Really?”

“Yeah. Wait, unless that’s a problem. Did you not mean it that way?” Bucky’s eyes were wide and frightened like a lost little kid.

“I did.” It was out before Steve could stop himself, but... that was okay. That was okay, because Bucky’s face smoothed out, and he let out a relieved sigh. Experimentally, Steve nodded and said, “I mean, I do. You know. Love you.”

Bucky’s eyes brightened, then slid closed for a moment, like they did when he savored something Steve did with his mouth on Bucky’s body. “Fuck, yes.” Then he lifted his head up and looked Steve directly in the eye. “I love you, too, Steve.”

Steve let out a breath that hitched in a way that had nothing to do with his lingering bronchitis. He shoved his hands under the pillow so he could give Bucky a tight hug, and he hid his face against Bucky’s neck again. “You’re still crazy,” he whispered, kissing Bucky’s ear.

“Crazy feels pretty good right now. C’mere.” Bucky slid his arms around Steve’s back and nudged Steve’s head with his own, working his mouth as far over Steve’s cheek as he could reach. “Kiss me. Then let me order breakfast.”

Steve obliged, trying to put everything that he couldn’t put into words into the kiss instead. “We’ll go. Anywhere you want. I’ll even put on pants,” he teased. He was tired and achy and still felt like whining, but he’d do _anything_ for Bucky right about now, including going to this French toast place, even if it meant showering and brushing his teeth and combing his hair and putting on clothes.

 

~~~

 

Bucky had offered to get breakfast delivered — the waitress at Stella’s really did like him, and he was pretty sure the dishwasher would drive an order over for a very large tip — but Steve had insisted he felt good enough to go out. And it had been so long since Bucky had seen him showered and clothed and not hiding in a blanket that his breath caught at the sight.

They went to get stuffed French toast, even though by this time Bucky worried it had been built up too much, and they were happily sitting across from each other in a booth playing footsie when Steve’s phone pinged, and Bucky’s heart jumped. Steve leaned back and dug his phone out of his pocket. He looked down, rolled his eyes, typed out a quick answer, and then dropped the phone on the table.

“Making sure I’m not dead,” he explained to Bucky with a smirk.

Bucky nodded, twirling his fork instead of using it. He hadn’t thought to worry about how this morning’s conversation affected things with Nat. He looked down at his half-full plate and wasn’t sure if he’d be able to eat any more. “You gonna tell her?”

“Tell — Oh.” Steve looked down at the phone as color filled his cheeks. “I... guess? I mean, how do I tell her? I’ve never...” He trailed off, darting an uncertain look across the table.

There was no way he meant he hadn’t... well? Maybe he hadn’t said that to anyone other than her. Bucky hadn’t said it to anyone he’d dated. He’d actually done a little research on polyamory in the past few weeks, though. The sticking point here was whether something like this shifted who was Steve’s primary partner.

Up until now, Bucky had been going on the assumption that he was secondary, because Nat had seniority. That was the established relationship. But after V’s birthday weekend, Nat had mostly left them to their own devices, which had given them a chance to become even closer than before. And Nat seemed fine with that. Probably because she knew she’d never lose Steve, no matter who he was dating. But adding love into the equation complicated all of that, and though Bucky wasn’t trying to usurp any titles here, he worried feelings could get hurt.

“Maybe you should tell her?” Steve suggested hopefully. “You wanna? I mean, you were texting her a whole lot, weren’t you? While I was sick?”

This was definitely not a conversation to be had via text. Bucky pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts, then pressed the call button. Steve blinked in surprise, looking from Bucky’s phone to his own.

Nat answered with an indulgent chuckle. “Hey, Doc.”

Bucky watched Steve’s face, not wanting to keep any of the conversation from him, but needing permission first. “Hey, darling. You free?”

“For you? Of course. How’s our favorite zombie?”

“Fine, I wanna tell you something, and then you tell me if you wanna be on speakerphone or not. That okay?”

Steve nodded, raising his voice a little while trying not to shout: “Hey, Nat.”

“What are you two conspiring?” Nat asked. “He doesn’t have pneumonia, does he? I’ll kill him.”

Bucky smiled at Steve and mouthed _she’s worried about you._ Then he said into the phone, “No, I promise he’s fine. He’s feeling a lot better, actually. It’s something else.”

“What is it? I can be there in a few hours,” she said, a more serious tone coming into her voice. “Or I can cancel my next client. It’s just a touch-up.”

Shaking his head — at who, he wasn’t sure — Bucky responded, “No, no, it’s nothing like that. I just need to tell you that I’m in love with him.”

Steve had picked up his phone to play with it. At Bucky’s words, he dropped it right onto his fork, which catapulted off his plate and onto the floor. Startled, Steve just gaped at Bucky.

“That’s... lovely?” Nat ventured. “Are you asking me to be your best man? Because I don’t wear dresses, even for you, _myshonok_.”

Chuckling, Bucky nodded at Steve, then said, “You don’t mind if I put you on speaker? I didn’t want you to feel on the spot, but maybe Steve should hear this.”

“No, but he doesn’t do well with speakerphones unless they’re close to him. Make sure he can hear?”

“Yeah, of course.” Bucky thumbed the speaker button, then scooted out of his side of the booth and slid in next to Steve. After a moment, Bucky lifted the phone and held it up between them, so it was close to Steve’s right ear. “Okay.”

“Hey, _kotik,_ ” Nat said.

“Hey.” Steve gave Bucky a somewhat goofy smile. “So, uh, yeah. I told him to tell you, and... well, yeah.”

“Your eloquence is astonishing,” she said, deadpan.

Grinning like an idiot, Bucky said, “He’s been like that all week. You know he told me he loved me three days before he _actually_ told me? It didn’t stick the first time.”

“What?” Steve asked at the same time that Nat said, “That makes no sense, _myshonok_.”

Huffing in amusement at both of them, he responded, “He said it in the shower when he was too sick to remember, or something, then we said it again this morning. I dunno. It doesn’t make sense. It’s Steve.”

“Hey!” Steve protested, elbowing him.

Nat laughed. “That’s sweet. Or you fed him cough syrup with codeine, but I thought you didn’t get him any prescriptions.”

“Nat.” Steve rolled his eyes. “I’m sober _and_ I love him. So there.”

“ _Myshonok_ , if he’s sticking his tongue out at me, spank him for me.”

“Just eye-rolling, Nat. No wish fulfillment for you today.” Bucky kissed Steve’s hair before continuing. “So, you feel okay with this?”

It took Nat a couple of seconds to ask, “Does it matter?”

“Nat!” Steve said again. “Come on. Aren’t you happy for us?”

“Well, yes... though I’d be happier if it didn’t sound like Bucky was planning on kidnapping you or taking you out of the country or something.”

See, that was what he was worried about. People feeling left out, and the possessiveness and jealousy that followed. “No, God. No, Nat. I just know that _you_ are the important one here, and I wanted... I dunno, to have your blessing. And to let you know he’s still as much yours as mine.” That definitely sounded ridiculous, but it was the truth. And he almost didn’t care if they made fun of him for it, if everyone was clear on things from the start.

“Whoa, hey,” Steve said. “What the fuck? You’re important, too, Bucky.”

“Do you two need to settle this privately?” Nat asked, and for the first time, Bucky heard a hint of a foreign accent creep into her voice.

Did they? Had he misinterpreted things that much? He didn’t think so, but it was good to check. “I just meant, she’s been your primary... and your _family,_ and you guys have so much history. I mean, Steve, would you really have started dating me if Nat didn’t like me?”

“I —” Steve closed his mouth, looking from the phone to Bucky. “I don’t... I mean, it’s not like I _asked_ her —”

“ _Kotik,_ I’ll let you two settle this. If you need me to come out there, let me know,” Nat said gently. “That goes for _both_ of you.”

“Thanks, Nat. Sorry if I...” Bucky shook his head at the phone. “Talk soon, _zaika._ ”

As soon as he disconnected the call, Steve asked, “Do you — Do you _really_ think you’re — I mean, Nat’s been around for _years_ , but you’re just as fucking special.”

“But that’s the point, Steve. She’s been there through everything. And anyone else you’ve been with. And if somehow we don’t work out, she’ll _still_ be around. Probably to kill me, though I swear my family might beat her to it.” Bucky tried for a sheepish grin. “I shouldn’t pretend I’m on her level.”

Steve pulled back, turning away to fold his arms on the table. He shoved his plate a few inches away to make room. “Does it matter? Why the fuck — Who _cares?_ It’s not who’s more important or who was first. Why the fuck can’t I have _both_ of you?” He shot Bucky a betrayed look, demanding, “Are you _really_ gonna make me pick?”

How the _fuck_ did this backfire so far as to land them here? This was exactly what he was trying to avoid. Bucky took a deep breath, then said, “Never. I _want_ you to have both of us. But Nat’s disappeared since that first day, and I didn’t want her to feel even more out of the loop. Yeah, we talk, but when was the last time you kissed her?”

“Nat’s in _Brooklyn_ , Bucky. She’s got a shop to run. She can’t just drop everything and come to the middle of fucking Long Island all the time. And in case you missed it, three weeks ago, I _fucked_ —”

“Steve, keep your voice down.” Bucky looked around to check no one had heard that.

Steve clenched his jaw and closed his eyes for a moment, nostrils flaring as he inhaled. “I’m not leaving her. I’m not abandoning her or turning away from her or _anything_ — not unless you’re gonna make me pick you or her.”

Bucky squeezed Steve’s shoulder and spoke calmly into his good ear. “I’m not saying you are. And I’m definitely not asking you to. You’ve just said before that three _days_ away used to be a long time, let alone three weeks, and I get you all the time, and... I’m trying to help this. To _keep_ her a part of things. I don’t know why you’re so mad at me.”

“Because,” Steve said with a frustrated huff. “Because I love _both_ of you. Because she’s like a fucking part of me, in here” — he pressed his fist to his chest — “and so are you, and I _can’t_ pick one of you over the other.”

The breath to answer was already deep in his lungs when something clicked over for Bucky and he heard this argument a whole different way. Steve had just said that _he,_ Bucky Barnes was as important to him as Nat was. That was fucking mindblowing. Because there was no one as important as Nat. Bucky had tried to find and equivalent in his own life, but it wasn’t V, or his mom, or any of the people he’d dated, or even really all of them combined. _That_ was how much Nat meant. For Steve to account Bucky as the same as that? As her? That was really hard to understand.

But then for Steve to feel that, and have Bucky tell Steve that he didn’t feel like he was on that level... that probably sounded like he didn’t love Steve as much as Steve loved him. And yes, amounts didn’t make sense, but still. That wasn’t what he was trying to say at all. Because when Bucky really thought about it, the person in his life that was his version of Nat was Steve.

“I swear on my life, Steve, I will never try to make you choose between us. Or put one of us over the other. Never.”

“Then...” Steve looked at him with a desperate look in his eyes. “Really? You’re not — You’re okay with _both_ of you...”

“Steve, I’ve been okay with that since the beginning. And I don’t just mean in bed. She’s your person. And I wanna be that too. But I don’t want it to be a competition, so I thought I should check in with her to make sure she was okay with it. That’s _all_.”

The tension drained from Steve’s body. “We always used to say we wanted to find someone for _both_ of us. I figured it’d be her, not me.”

Bucky had been thinking of more of a v-shape than a triangle when he had been figuring out how to see the three of them sharing. To start with, he was pretty sure that Nat didn’t want what Steve was saying, no matter how _he_ felt about it. “Well, you can have both of us, but the jury is still out over whether the both of you will have me.” He wrapped his arm around Steve’s waist, and leaned in to rest his chin on Steve’s shoulder. “Anyway, I just wanna focus on loving you right now, if that’s okay.”

Steve nodded, letting his body weight rest against Bucky. “Yeah. I mean, maybe you should get to know her more, too. I’m used to her being around all the time. I miss her.”

Kissing Steve’s hair, since it was mostly blocking his view of Steve’s face, Bucky said, “I’d like that. You know I have nothing against Nat. Very much the opposite. But you’re right. We all haven’t hung out enough recently. And as much as I love having you to myself so much, I know that’s not fair.”

“You put up with me being sick. That meant she didn’t have to.” Steve huffed and turned enough so he could kiss Bucky’s cheek. “She’s probably gonna show up at your house over Christmas with all my stuff from Aunt Vera’s, packed in a suitcase. That way, she can have our room all to herself.”

Bucky shook his head at Steve’s constant belief that no one wanted him. And then he remembered how Nat was not the most patient person. She was probably an awful sick nurse. “Well, she put up with me while I put up with you, so who knows if she wants to hang out with either of us? But you should call her and ask. I’ve got to work on my projects this afternoon and you have class at some point, if you’re up for going, but then it’s the weekend.”

“Class?” A whine crept into Steve’s voice. “But I’m still sick.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky used his stern-mom-voice, “Well, if you’re still sick, then you can’t have friends over to play.”

Steve’s laugh was brief. “Really, I just wanna go back to bed,” he admitted sheepishly. “I’m fucking _exhausted_. Feel like I got run over by a truck.”

 _Right. Too soon._ Not-a-zombie and recovered were two separate things. For a second Bucky thought about asking if Nat could come over so _he_ could have someone to play with, but he didn’t really mean it like _that_ , and he was behind on at least two projects from taking care of Steve. “Sleep for a whole day. I’ll get work done. Maybe Nat can come next weekend, since it’s still a few weeks ’til Thanksgiving.”

“Thanks.” Steve rubbed his face against Bucky’s chest and mumbled, “That means you’ll do my homework, right?”

Sneaky, adorable bastard. The worst part was how it was inches away from working on Bucky. “Ah, no. I love you, but not that much.”

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Friday, November 29, 2013**

After spending Thanksgiving Day at Bucky’s house, Steve’s apartment looked that much more shabby and run-down in contrast. He’d never been ashamed of how he, Nat, and Aunt Vera lived, but that didn’t make it any more comfortable. Hell, he’d been having second thoughts since he told Bucky to leave his car at his parents’ house, since there was no parking at Steve’s. It was only halfway a lie. Parking was on the streets, first-come, first-serve, and not very safe. Aunt Vera still had the minibus mostly because no one else had the knack of wiggling the ignition key to get it started.

But it wasn’t all bad. The block was full of incredible smells even on Black Friday, now that a bunch of restaurants had opened, and the hipsters had found the neighborhood, meaning money was finally flowing in, not out. Of course, that made it a target-rich environment for someone like Steve — or, well, a _predator-_ rich one, but whatever. Nobody was going to fuck with a guy like Bucky, even with Steve at his side.

The walk from the subway was cold but not far, made easier from lack of luggage. The apartment was too small for four people to comfortably share, not that Aunt Vera cared if Bucky, Nat, and Steve all piled into the same bed. No, it was the bed situation itself that was problematic. Steve and Nat had bunk beds, and that meant they’d be fighting over which of them got Bucky.

“It’s that one,” Steve said, pointing two doors down. There was a tiny front yard, and the ground floor windows had black iron bars with scrollwork to make them look decorative. “We’re upstairs, second floor, though we’ve also got part of the backyard. That’s where Nat keeps her bike.”

Bucky smiled over at Steve and squeezed their linked arms close to his side. His face looked bright, not just from the flush of his cheeks in the cold, but his eyes held a hint of worry. “We’re not late, are we? I’ve gotten bad at judging travel times on the subway. Out of practice.”

“We’re fine,” Steve assured him. He headed up the walkway to the front stoop, then got his keys out of his pocket. They were going back to Bucky’s house tonight so they had no backpacks — only the shopping bag Fred had insisted they take. It had a fancy bottle of wine Fred said would be perfect with Aunt Vera’s lasagna.

He unlocked the outer door and led Bucky into the tiny foyer. The door to the left went to where their landlord, Mrs. Abegg, lived. Steve unlocked the one that was straight ahead, which went right to a flight of stairs full of the smell of tomato sauce and garlic.

Aunt Vera shouted something over the sound of Creedence Clearwater Revival. He guessed it was _“Steve, is that you?”_ as always.

“It’s us!” he yelled back, glad Mrs. Abegg was even more deaf than he was. Otherwise, they would’ve gotten kicked out for all the shouting long ago.

The stairs let out into the main room, which was just big enough to hold a round, four-seat dining room table. The kitchen was an afterthought, with just enough room for one person at a time. Nat was in there now, getting sodas out of the fridge.

“It’s about time,” she said with a smile. She put two cans on the counter so she could wrap herself around Steve, who held her tightly. Going from seeing her every day to once every few weeks was hard for both of them.

He gave her a quick kiss and kept his arm around her, because he knew what he’d see when he turned. Sure enough, Aunt Vera had come out of the front room to look Bucky over with a delighted grin.

Steve had never gone through the introduce-the-date thing. He’d _never_ brought anyone home with him. He faltered, but Nat, thankfully, said, “See? He _is_ real. Vera Rogers, Bucky Barnes.”

“Bucky,” Vera said, holding out both hands to him. Like Steve, she was practically five-foot-nothing and thin enough that a good wind would knock her down. She’d dressed for the occasion, which meant a sweater that had probably been hand-knitted in a tiny village in Central America and a long skirt, though her feet were bare. As soon as she had Bucky’s hands in her own, she said, “It’s so good to finally meet you.”

“You too, Aunt Vera.” Bucky’s neck flushed as red as his wind-chapped cheeks once he’d spoken. “I mean, sorry. They both talk a lot about you, Ms. Rogers. Thanks for having me.”

“You got it right the first time. Call me Vera. Everyone does,” she scolded, pulling him down to kiss his cheek. “My God, look at you. You’re just gorgeous.”

“Vera,” Steve complained.

“What? I’m not dead. Not even all that old,” she said.

“Um... here, this is for dinner.” Bucky did his normal ignore-the-compliment thing and handed Vera the bottle of wine. “It’s actually from my mom. The Barneses say happy Thanksgiving.”

“Thank you, dear.” She took the wine and went for the kitchen. Steve had to let go of Nat to make room, and Nat immediately went for Bucky.

“Hey, Doc,” she said, pulling him down for a kiss that probably embarrassed the hell out of him, even though Aunt Vera’s back was turned.

When the kiss ended, Bucky’s eyes were bright, and his mouth held a smirk. “Hey, Nat. We missed you last night. V especially.”

“I’m working on a special Christmas present for her,” Nat said.

“As long as it’s not a tattoo —” Bucky cut off as Aunt Vera came back to where they were all standing and handed Nat the soda cans.

“Jackets and shoes off, and then go sit down.”

“You need any help?” Steve offered.

“I’ve got it. Go. Nat, restart the movie?”

“We’re watching _The Hobbit_ ,” Nat told them.

That was no surprise. Aunt Vera had raised Nat and Steve on Tolkien’s works. Steve got out of his jacket and hung it over the bannister next to Aunt Vera’s overcoat and Nat’s leather jacket. His boots went into their usual place, between the bannister supports.

Bucky followed suit and leaned close to Steve to stage-whisper, “You never told me you’re all sci-fi fantasy nerds too.”

“Christmas, it’s _Lord of the Rings_. The whole thing,” Steve said, grinning.

“No breaks,” Nat added, taking hold of Bucky’s hand to drag him to the front room. “Think you’ve got it in you to keep up with us, _myshonok_?”

Laughing and reaching back for Steve’s hand, Bucky answered, “Are you kidding? I used to re-read all four books every summer in grade school. Bring it.”

 

~~~

 

The whole day was really relaxed and low-key, and Bucky realized part of that was the lack of kids — well, V — and half as many people. He’d never thought of his family as rowdy until he witnessed the contrast between a Barnes holiday and a Rogers one.

They watched the first Hobbit movie while the lasagna was cooking, with Bucky, Steve and Nat all piled on the couch in the cozy front room, and Aunt Vera in the corner armchair. There was much less commentary than at his house, and of course the closed captioning was on the screen, which even Bucky appreciated.

Dinner was early and at the dining room table, with a glass of wine for each of them. The vegetarian lasagna was even better than Bucky had expected, and given the amount of praise Steve had given it ahead of time, that was saying something. It was fun to watch the three of them together. It was clear that though they weren’t exactly a nuclear family, they loved and understood each other, and they knew how to poke fun without hurting feelings. Aunt Vera was eccentric but lovely, and she treated her charges with respect. Bucky felt really comfortable hanging out with all of them. Enough that he had to remind himself to watch what he said, catching himself at the last moment once or twice before divulging something that would embarrass Steve or Nat. Or, well, Steve.

Vera quizzed Bucky about his studies, though Nat took over the conversation once it became clear that Vera’s computer skills began and ended with the systems used at the hospital where she worked. At first, Bucky politely kept his explanations vague and in layman’s terms, but when Nat’s questions got more technical and her understanding of his responses proved to be much better than average, he got down to specifics. Steve and Vera tried to follow along until they had asked for clarification one too many times and Nat gave them both a death-glare. They chatted about Steve’s art and how he was catching up from being sick while Bucky gave Nat a rundown on the research on the technology of neural interfaces for artificial limbs.

When the first round of eating was basically over and they needed time to digest before dessert, Nat ushered them all back into the front room to watch her ‘acquired’ copy of The Hobbit 2. Before, they’d sat with Steve between them; now, Nat wormed between Bucky and the arm of the couch, and Steve took advantage of the extra space to stretch out, head on Bucky’s lap.

It was perfectly natural for him to put one arm around Nat’s shoulders and to play with Steve’s hair with the other hand. Having the two of them snuggled close to him, cozy but _not_ sexual, was comforting in a way he hadn’t expected. Not that he’d ever thought it would be awkward, more that he hadn’t really ever thought it would happen. He and Nat were Steve’s lovers, but by now, both Nat and Steve were Bucky’s close friends. And that was the unexpected part. The Bucky-has-friends part. When you’ve never come in from the cold, you don’t notice it. Now it was like Bucky was inside the warm kitchen of friendship, and thinking about how chilled he’d once been made him shiver.

Steve lifted his head and gave Bucky a questioning look. “You cold? It’s drafty.”

Bucky smoothed his hand over Steve’s cheek and jaw before he responded. “No, just warming up. You guys feel really cozy.”

“Do you need a blanket?” Aunt Vera asked, already getting to her feet.

“No, I’m —” Bucky began as she crossed the room and left.

Steve snickered. “What, you don’t want to snuggle under a blanket with us?”

Refusing to smirk at Steve’s tone of voice, Bucky said, “No, I mean, yeah, but you’d have to sit up to see, and I like you in my lap.”

“He could _stay_ there,” Nat said, leaning in to brush her lips over Bucky’s ear.

Steve laughed and looked at her upside-down. “Maybe after Aunt Vera goes to sleep, depending on how late we stay.”

“Stay as late as you want,” Aunt Vera said as she walked back in, utterly unfazed by the innuendo that she surely had recognized. She had a quilt in her arms, and she tossed it to Bucky.

He was going to have to learn how to not blush at, well, everything to do with these two. As it was, he used the excuse of unfolding the quilt to keep his face hidden for as long as he could.

After they all got settled under the blanket and attention was back on the movie, Bucky leaned in to brush his nose against the fall of hair by Nat’s ear. “You could come back with us to my house...”

Her smile lit up her eyes beautifully. “Yeah?” she asked, and Steve turned to study Bucky’s face.

Realizing too late he hadn’t checked in with Steve, he turned and leaned in close to Steve’s left ear. Careful to enunciate, he said, “You’re okay with Nat coming home with us, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Steve said at once, sounding a little surprised. “I mean — you are?”

Nat muttered something in Russian — the verbal equivalent of an eye-roll, Bucky suspected — and asked, “How did you two _ever_ get together if you can’t actually make decisions?”

“They’re men, Tasha,” Aunt Vera said, deliberately loud enough for Steve to hear. He stuck his tongue out at her, and she waved her glass of wine, saying, “See?”

“We make decisions. We just check in about stuff too. We’ve already spent enough time assuming inaccurate shit — sorry, stuff...” Bucky trailed off, not sure they should get into that story with Aunt Vera — or Nat.

“It’s cute,” Steve said, eyeing Nat as if daring her to contradict him.

She grinned. “Oh, very,” she said, reaching past Bucky to ruffle Steve’s hair. He swatted at her, but she was faster than him, and he finally dove for cover under the blanket.

Bucky looked over at Aunt Vera with a what-the-fuck-do-I-do-with-them face, and she chuckled, shaking her head. He interpreted that as “your guess is as good as mine.” But she seemed happy, almost indulgently so, and he remembered Steve saying his birthdays had been as small as Bucky’s. Smaller, since it was just the three of them. He wondered if she had spent her time worrying like his mom had when neither of them brought people home. Maybe a fourth person in the house was a relief. He certainly felt an odd amount of comfort being there.

Nat leaned in close and kissed his cheek, interrupting his thoughts. “I’d love to, _myshonok_.”

Smiling fondly, Bucky nodded. And it was only the fact that the bed at his house was queen-sized that kept him from suggesting they just stay right here.

 

~~~

 

**Friday, December 6, 2013**

Bucky should have recognized the significance of his post-Thanksgiving invitation, though it didn’t sink in until the following Friday morning. Fridays were his day to sleep in — at least, that had been his intention, when he’d scheduled his classes — but Steve had an early English class, which meant Bucky had to drag himself out of bed to make sure Steve got up in time.

That meant Bucky spent most Friday mornings sitting at his workbench, either sketching out his next project or actually building it. Not that he minded. Most nights, he and Steve went to bed early, even if they didn’t necessarily sleep until after midnight.

He’d lost track of time when he heard a tap at the door. He didn’t bother to shout that it was unlocked — Steve wouldn’t hear it — so he got up to answer it himself.

Only it wasn’t Steve. Nat smiled at him, saying, “Steve said I’m not supposed to pick your locks anymore.”

“Nat, hey...” Bucky pulled her in for a tight hug. He was really glad to see her, he realized, even if it had only been a week. “Steve’s at class, but come in.”

She smiled and slipped past him, trailing a hand over his arm. “Aunt Vera’s been working double-shifts the last couple of days. She slept at the hospital last night.”

Bucky wasn’t completely sure what his job was here. If Nat was bored and came to distract Steve from his work, he supposed he could be the proxy and entertain her until Steve got home. “Have a seat. There’s soda in the fridge, I think, or I could go get you something from the vending machines...?”

“Thanks, no. I figured maybe I’d take you two out to a late lunch, if you don’t have any other plans. Steve said your schedule’s open on Friday, and he’s out at noon, right?” She draped her leather jacket over the arm of the couch and sat down.

Huh. This visit was specifically timed. The clock above his workbench said it wasn’t even eleven. “Yeah. That sounds great, actually.” Bucky moved to sit on his stool, across from the couch. “You’re a bit early. Nothing going on at the shop today?”

She shook her head. “No appointments, and it’s not raining, so I figured... perfect day for a ride out here.” Her grin flashed to life as she added, “If you’re good, I’ll take you for a spin on the bike later.”

That raised Bucky’s eyebrow. He’d never had that offer before. He’d never thought to ask, even though it was something that he had wanted since he first saw her on that beast of a bike. His dad used to have one when he was small, and there wasn’t much that rivalled the feeling of riding on the back of someone’s motorcycle, especially along the windy roads of Long Island. “I’d like that. A lot.”

“Good. If you like it, I’ll start keeping an eye out for deals on good helmets. Steve and I have been talking about getting a radio system for ours, so he can hear.”

“Oh, shit. I can rig something up. That’s no more complex than what I did for V’s birthday present. Less, I bet.” Shit. Presents. He should have kept his mouth shut. “Hey, don’t tell him that. I can probably get it done by Christmas.”

“Yeah? Anything I can do to help? Commercial systems are pretty slick, but they’re fucking expensive.”

“I can find — or figure out — the specs. I’ll just need access to the helmets themselves at some point.” He could probably find some decent housing and parts. Mostly he was excited to make or mod something that would help with Steve’s hearing, even if it was only when on the bike. He knew better than to ask again about hearing aids for general use, even though he knew almost exactly how to calibrate and fit something for him that he wouldn’t notice. He smiled warmly at Nat, doing his best not to ignore his guest and fall into the planning of a new project. “Thanks for the gift idea.”

She laughed and slouched so she could kick at his shin. “Thanks for stealing my gift idea, _myshonok_. Guess I’ll go back to the usual fallback plan.”

“Oh, no. Wait. I’m sorry, bunny. You can give it to him. It’ll just take me a few days once the semester’s over...” Jesus, talk about stepping on toes.

She laughed and kicked him again. “No. He always needs art supplies, and he won’t buy himself good ones. He says —”

“They’re just for practice,” Bucky said along with her.

Her smile softened. “Exactly. So, what’s he need? Paints? Pencils? I don’t see any evidence of chalk. The last time he was using chalk, it got everywhere.”

“After I ended up at class with charcoal smudged across my face, and didn’t know it until two hours later, he promised to only use the powdery stuff in the art studio.” Bucky grinned at Nat’s laugh. “The supplies bin is over there. You can look through it. Though I’m sure you know pencils are always a good idea.”

“I wish he’d do more in pens. It’s cleaner to translate to tattoos.” She nudged his leg a third time, adding, “Hint, hint, _myshonok_. His art talent needs to be shared, and that means inking it onto as many bodies as possible.”

Frowning in confusion, Bucky said, “I don’t know anyone with tattoos but you two...” But when Nat’s face started to approach the you-idiot look, he thought he got what she meant. “Oh. Ah... Maybe? I’m not saying I’ll never get one, but...”

“Just encourage him to draw more,” she said with a laugh. “I need more samples of his art to keep in the shop for indecisive customers. Unless you want to be a live naked model for me,” she added, her grin turning sly.

Bucky let the come-on pass right by, and kept to their actual conversation. “He draws all the time. Whenever we are studying. I mean, talking through his studies. I don’t know what of, half the time, but yeah. I’m not keeping him from his art.”

“I never said you were. You’ve been good for him.” It came out a little defensive, and her easy smile faded.

Uh-oh. Walls up. Bucky couldn’t tell if it was because he let his worry about this exact thing make his voice and face hard, or because he hadn’t played the game. The let’s-see-how-many-suggestive-phrases-we-can-use-in-one-conversation game that Nat was sort of always playing. He countered her defensiveness by moving from the stool to the couch, and he fell into it sideways, facing her with his back against the arm. “Thanks. That’s nice to hear. He’s been good for me too.”

She turned sideways, tucking one leg under the other. “And I’m right back to wondering if you’ve been examined for clinical insanity, considering you’ve already been through one bout of bronchitis with him.”

Bucky rolled his eyes at her, smiling at yet another instance of questioning his sanity. “Not you, too. Do you guys share a brain? I don’t know if you understand what I was like before he moved in, which was way before we started sleeping together, let alone the bronchitis. I was kind of a mess. Honestly, he’s the one that deserves a medal, not me.” He poked her knee, conspiratorily. “Besides, once he actually let me help him, dealing with sick-Steve was a lot easier.”

She gave him a retaliatory poke in the arm. “I knew he’d let you in that first night, when he came up here with you, instead of going to his hiding spot on the roof. He trusted you.”

There was weight to how she said the last sentence that had Bucky thinking about Steve’s defenses. Bucky knew they were there, but somehow he almost never felt them go up in front of him. “I have no idea why. We’d only talked once, for like a minute. I guess I _did_ tell him how to get up to the roof; maybe that was it.”

Nat huffed. “He _liked_ you when you were straight. He’s always been more comfortable with people who aren’t, until you. And you, _myshonok_ , look more like the sort of jock who’d beat him up than a nerd who might be an ally.”

“But I —” Oh. That really didn’t make sense, then. “How the hell did he decide I was worthy? It couldn’t have been ending that fight. I was sure he was pissed at me for that.”

She smiled. “You were nice to him. In case you didn’t notice, he and I aren’t exactly the type of people who get ‘nice’ treatment from strangers.”

“Well, that’s fucking stupid. You guys are awesome.” That hadn’t been on Bucky’s radar, but he realized it was probably because people never looked twice at him. Invisible. The idea that both of them had dealt with a lot of bad attention made Bucky equal parts angry and sad. He twisted and leaned over to fall onto his side on the couch cushions, his head on her knee. “I’m sorry, _zaika._ ”

“For what?” she asked, combing her fingers through his hair. Her nails were short, and she was careful not to catch the strands with her rings. “You’ve been great.”

He turned and rubbed his face against her leg, trying to banish the unreasonable guilt of not being there to stick up for them all that time. “I dunno. You both deserve better.”

She gave his earlobe a quick pinch. “Stop. We had each other, and now, he’s got you.”

He whipped his head around to look her in the eye. “You do, too, darling. I’m here for you, too.”

 _“Spasibo, myshonok,”_ she said softly, brushing her fingertips over his face. “You’re special.”

Bucky turned onto his back, looking up at Nat’s face, trying to decipher the micro-expressions which were the only hints she let through as to what she was thinking. He was horrible at it. But he was pretty sure whatever she meant, it was something good. Not just good; something important.

Without looking away, he turned his head just enough to kiss her fingertips. And though she didn’t say anything, Bucky could feel her body relax. That felt like an accomplishment. Or a gift. He brushed his lips back and forth over the pads of her fingers, and she smiled down at him.

“You have a gorgeous mouth, you know,” she said quietly. “If the helmet radios don’t work out, let me know. You could always surprise him with a tongue piercing.”

He just blinked at her for a moment, unsure how to process what felt like a blatant come-on right next to a suggestion of how to please Steve. Funtimes and landmines with your lover’s lover.

Or maybe not the latter. Nat wasn’t someone he needed to keep at arm’s length. They were not just friends but also lovers, technically, since they’d now shared Steve more than once. And really, this felt good. Comfortable. Safe.

He pressed his lips to her fingers one last time before he slid one hand between her lower back and the couch as the other hand took hold of her shin, just above the boot. Then he answered with a grin, “Thanks. Still not sold on that idea, but good try.”

 

~~~

 

These days, Bucky left the door unlocked, so Steve didn’t have to bother with trying to pick the lock. He just let himself in, dropped his bag, and said, “I fucking _hate_ —” before he realized Bucky wasn’t alone. He was on the couch, feet stuck over the armrest and dangling between the rungs of the loft ladder, head pillowed on Nat’s lap. It didn’t look like they’d been fucking, which was a shame. Bucky needed to learn to take advantage of those sorts of opportunities. Then again, maybe it was just as well. Now that Steve was here, he could encourage them — and then watch.

Bucky raised his head enough to make eye contact but didn’t take his hand off Nat’s leg as he said, “Hey, babe. You okay?”

“I hate English,” Steve said with much less heat. He’d looked forward to the relief of having Bucky to himself for the whole weekend, hopefully study-free. Nat was an unexpected bonus.

“At least you got a head start at it,” Nat said, smirking.

Steve huffed and kicked off each boot as he walked over to them. “At least you could fucking hear the teacher,” he muttered, leaning in to give her a kiss, resting one hand on Bucky’s chest. Then he dropped lower, to his knees, so he could give Bucky the same deep, slow kiss.

When he pulled away, Bucky’s thoughtful frown showed up. “You know, those big lecture halls should have assistive tech built in. I’m gonna talk to my advisor about that. We could probably get it done over winter break... if they could get it funded.” Then he blinked, and his face cleared as he added, “Sorry. Hi. Glad you’re home. Lunch?”

“Headache,” Steve said, throwing a little whine into his voice, just because he could. It wasn’t like he had to impress either Nat or Bucky. And with both of them here, that was twice the attention that _somebody_ was going to be getting, so why not him?

Bucky sat up and pointed to the fridge, saying, “Water. And cuddles?”

“Scalp massage?” Steve hinted.

“Oh, _please_ ,” Nat interrupted, smacking Bucky’s arm. “You have three times the course load he has.”

Steve bit his cheek to keep from smiling, then gave them his best puppy-dog expression. “But he’s _good_ at that sort of shit. Better than me.”

“Not really; I’m just never not working on it. Except when Nat comes to play, it seems.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek, then looked back at Steve. “Babe, you’re probably hungry. Or thirsty.” He pointed at the fridge again.

So much for a scalp massage. “Is a backrub totally out of the question, then?”

“We could strip him and tie him to your ladder so he could watch us,” Nat offered, turning to Bucky. “I was only halfway through the best way to configure a wireless router for security.”

“Mmm... Talk dirty to me, bunny.” Bucky turned toward Nat, pretending to ignore Steve, but he was much worse at deadpan. “Where _are_ those famous handcuffs, anyway?”

Steve gave in and laughed. “She doesn’t —”

“Jacket pocket,” Nat said, pointing at the leather jacket hanging over the arm of the couch next to Bucky.

Bucky blinked and froze for just a second before he reached slowly over to feel the jacket and slide his hand in said pocket. His eyes went wide as he drew out the pair of cuffs that Nat had swiped from somewhere — a cop, she claimed — ages ago. She’d eventually got her hands on a key, which lived on her key ring as a conversation starter.

Steve shot her a look, brows raised. She smirked in answer and said, “Your genius here can’t be the only boy scout in the room. Always prepared? Isn’t that their saying?”

“Uh. Yeah. Can I see the key?” Bucky’s focus had been swallowed by the closing mechanism of the cuffs. He was ratcheting it around in a circle, then closing it over just his palm so he could slide it out. The sound was far more erotic than it had any right to be. Steve didn’t exactly have a fetish about handcuffs, but add in _Bucky_ and... well, maybe he did.

Nat reached past Bucky for her jacket, taking the opportunity to press a kiss to his cheek, and slid her hand into her other pocket. “Are you playing or improving the design?” she teased as she took out her keys.

“Column A, column B? It’s a smart design, honestly. Dad always says, the simpler it is, the better. Can I...?” Bucky held out his hand for the key.

Naturally, Nat got the key off her keychain and handed it right to him. Then she leaned over and ruffled Steve’s hair, ignoring his swipe to bat her away. “Be nice, _kotik_.”

He huffed and got up off the floor, thinking the couch was small but not _that_ small. Besides, _he_ was small — small enough that he was able to climb up onto Nat’s lap, one knee wedged between her hip and the sofa arm, the other between her and Bucky. “You don’t want _nice_ ,” he said, leaning in to rest his forehead against hers. He caught the sharp smell of hair dye; she must have touched it up just that morning. Grinning, he tugged on a strand and asked, “Aww, did you get all pretty for me and Bucky?”

She smacked his hip and tossed her head. “I’m _always_ pretty. Right, _myshonok?_ ”

“What? Yep. Definitely.” Bucky didn’t take his eyes off the handcuffs, now with one of the bracelets around his left wrist. He was locking it and unlocking it, testing how firmly it clicked into place, how tight around his wrist he could get it, how loose it had to be before he could slide his hand out. He looked up when he felt Steve’s eyes on him, and he winked. “Always pretty. You too, babe.”

“Yay, pretty me,” Steve said dryly, pretending like the delighted flutter in his stomach didn’t happen. He nudged Nat’s head back so he could kiss her.

“I think he’s got a secret kink,” Nat said. She turned a wicked smirk on Bucky, who looked over from what he was doing, confused.

“About being pretty?” Bucky asked. “Does that count as a kink? I thought everyone wanted to be pretty...”

He was _so fucking adorable_. Steve leaned over, pushing the cuffs out of his way so he could kiss Bucky before saying, “Only two of us here are ‘pretty’, babe.”

“Only one by conventional standards,” Nat added. “Though you _would_ be awfully adorable with a couple of strategic piercings.”

Bucky’s eyebrow raised at the piercings comment, but he let it slide in favor of saying, “Seriously guys, you two are the hottest people in town. Should I use ‘gorgeous’ instead of the word pretty?” He looked at them for just a moment, wide-eyed and sincere, before he went back to futzing with the cuffs.

Nat blinked a couple of times, and Steve knew exactly what she was thinking. “He means it,” he told her quietly.

And as she stared at Bucky, Steve watched, remembering exactly how it felt — that moment when he had realized there was someone besides Aunt Vera who thought there was something good and worthwhile and beautiful about _him_. Someone who looked past the way they looked and the way they lived and all the armor they wore to keep the idiots at bay.

It took a few moments for Bucky to register that no one had answered him, and he looked up, first at Steve, then at Nat, eyebrows at his hairline. “No? Is ‘beautiful’ better? Or I could go the ‘intelligent’ route, but I thought we were talking about looks, for some reason... If not, there are plenty of other adjectives...” He trailed off when they still didn’t move or answer, his face shifting to worried. “What?”

Another couple of blinks, and Nat looked away. Steve knew she was getting that armor back in place, so he climbed off her lap and onto Bucky’s, wanting to give her space. When Bucky looked up, Steve asked, “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?” Bucky slipped his wrist free and put the handcuffs aside, looking apologetically up into Steve’s eyes. “Did I miss what you were talking about? I’m sorry. I got distracted.”

Steve almost told him, but he chickened out. This wasn’t a conversation he could have in daylight, with the three of them on the couch. Instead, he grinned and flicked a finger at the cuffs, saying, “Lunch first. Then we can come back and play with those all you want.”

 

~~~

 

Lunch was at a diner in town, where Nat sat on Bucky’s side of the booth and was in fine snarky-sexy form, the banter between her and Steve such that Bucky wanted to just put his chin in his hands and watch them like a TV show. He _was_ able to turn so his back was against the side wall and ate one-handed — and played footsie with Steve one-footed — so he had a good view of Nat’s face as she told stories about her tattoo clients.

The afternoon was hanging out in a puppy-pile on their couch, though at one point Bucky got up to jot down some ideas that talking to Nat about computers had given him for one of his projects, and he ended up sitting on his stool watching Steve and Nat curl up together like even they didn’t know whose limbs were whose.

Dinner was bar food and drinks at Mac’s so Steve and Nat could experience the one dive bar in Huntington. The bartender that night was a townie who’d gone to SUNY Huntington and had pledged in one of the frats that Bucky modded keg taps for, so they were set for drinks. Not that any of them wanted more than one each. Bucky was a lightweight, but more importantly, he had driven them in the Camry, and it seemed as though Steve and Nat had already gone through the stupid party-’til-you-drop phase.

During dinner, Nat announced that she’d be leaving for Brooklyn. “Your bed’s too small for you two, much less all three of us, _myshonok_ ,” she had said.

“But you’ll have to come back soon to keep us sane during finals,” Bucky had said quickly, and she’d agreed.

He wasn’t exactly sure why it was happening, but he was really glad they were getting to see her more frequently. Part of it was that he knew it fed Steve’s need to feel equally close to both him and Nat, and part was simply how much Bucky enjoying being around her. And obviously they all felt that sex between the three of them was on a whole other level of hot. What Bucky and Steve had in bed was more than enough for Bucky, but adding Nat made everything _interesting_. Different. And somehow easier. Especially when it came to new stuff. Well, new for Bucky.

It was amazing how _comfortable_ Bucky was with both of them. Spending the day with Nat and Steve had felt like an odd combination of family time and a date. And then climbing into the loft bed with Steve, cuddling skin-to-skin, felt newly intimate when they hadn’t had alone time since the night before.

“So, uh... you’re kinda an idiot, huh?” Steve asked once he was in his usual spot, squeezed between the wall and Bucky’s body. His always-cold feet were tucked against Bucky’s to leach warmth.

It was a novel experience for Bucky to be told he was stupid, at least by someone who was over fourteen, and it both rankled and intrigued him. “What? What did I do?” He had the odd experience of hearing his father in his voice and that made him pay attention.

Steve reached up to the head of the bed and turned on the little reading lamp. “Look at me,” he said, propped up on one elbow.

Thin face, straight nose, high cheekbones, eyebrows darker than his hair, the silver rings he’d put in before dinner, blue eyes. Those two little lines between his eyebrows which showed up when he was serious. Or angry. Or sometimes when he laughed.

“Okay...?” Bucky saw his Steve. The intelligent, passionate face he looked at day in and day out. The one that had stuck in his mind from the very first time he saw it. That and the beautiful birds. “I’ll say it again: what?”

Steve shook his head, grinning even more. “Now look at me _not_ as you. Pretend you’re some asshole on the street. What do you see?”

Bucky frowned. How was this relevant to anything? “I don’t know. That’s impossible to do, Steve. True objectivity is a myth.”

That got him a huff. “Punk. Rotten kid. Fuck-up. Good-for-nothing —”

Bucky interrupted before Steve could go any farther. “Steve, stop. That’s not what people see. Those are all labels they use to get away with _not_ seeing. You aren’t any of those things.”

“But that’s the point, Buck. _You believe that_. Only most people? They don’t even — they don’t even get close to that point. They see us, and they think they know everything about us — how we’re not gonna get anywhere in life, we’re drug addicts and thieves. They avoid us on the street. Pull their kids away. Fuck, that first time, in the stairwell, I was ready for you to start throwing punches.”

“What the fuck would I hit you for? You were just sitting there. And I don’t ‘believe’ things about you, as if I didn’t have the evidence of my eyes to back up my conclusions. Scientist, remember? You can’t go into an experiment with a preconceived notion of how it’s going to turn out or you’ll skew the data. Why do that with any experience in life? Especially with people. They are the most unpredictable things out there.”

Bucky didn’t know why he was defending his way of thinking about this; it wasn’t as if Steve were against his views. Bucky did recognize in himself an anger at, not people, but a system. Or more, a whole section of society and its insistence on ignorance. He couldn’t imagine being bombarded with the evidence of that ignorance every time he left the house. It made him remember his conversation with Nat that morning, about people who looked like him not being nice to her and Steve. It hadn’t actually sunk in until now. And it sucked.

“I hate everything.” He pulled Steve into a tight hug and buried his face in the crook of Steve’s neck. “And I’m sorry.”

“Fucking idiot,” Steve said, flopping half on top of Bucky. “It’s not about _them_. It’s about you. What you see in me and Nat. You have any idea how fucking special that makes you?”

“Nat said that this morning.” Bucky worried his voice was too muffled against Steve’s neck, but he huffed as if he’d heard. Bucky moved his mouth nearer Steve’s ear to continue. “Of course, it was Nat-speak, so she used a tenth of the words.” He didn’t _feel_ special. Until one of them looked at him like he’d done something marvelous, which, when he cast his mind back, happened when he complimented them unthinkingly. If they were both really that starved for praise... It made him want to break shit. “Why the fuck is being a decent human being ‘special’?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” Steve turned enough to kiss Bucky’s cheek. “ _You’re_ what fucking matters, babe.”

“Thanks.” Bucky turned further and caught Steve’s mouth in a kiss. He’d meant it to simply punctuate his gratitude, but the kiss quickly crescendoed into something much more passionate. It siphoned off his anger and solidified his commitment to being stellarly good to Steve. And now, also to Nat. “What brought this on, anyway? Did Nat tell you about our conversation this morning?”

Steve frowned slightly. “What conversation?”

“Just when she told me I was special even though I look like a jock who would beat you up and be mean to her.”

“No, but it’s kinda accurate,” Steve said with an amused snort. “We’re sorta used to everyone being assholes until they prove otherwise.” He pushed up on one elbow so he could kiss the tip of Bucky’s nose. “Kinda like you did, from that first second. Your sister, too. Viola, I mean. Not stalker Becky or I-hate-everything Kimberly.”

Bucky’s laugh was half-snort. “Pretty sure Becky sees how cool you are, too. She just isn’t as chill about it as _I am._..” He made sure his jokey self-deprecation was overly obvious in that statement. “But seriously, it was V. You were already billed as ‘the pretty boy’. There wasn’t room for any other interpretation. Not that I would have come away with any other, after meeting you.” He kissed the top of Steve’s cheek to make him blink and show off his eyelashes.

“It’s a big part of why I love you.” Steve’s voice was soft. “We’re just people to you. Not freaks.”

Baffled but honored, and warmed through at hearing Steve use the word ‘love’ so casually, Bucky leaned in and kissed him softly, slowly. Then he couldn’t help but say, “Then it’s too bad you fell for someone who looks ‘normal’ but is actually a freak.”

Steve grinned. “That mean you want a tattoo after all?”

Somehow, that almost felt like a legitimate reaction to this whole situation. _Was that weird?_ To want to be in solidarity with his friends and break out of the ‘normal’ performance that had always made him invisible, and therefore not a target for attack? Bucky wasn’t sure asking to get beat up for having piercings and tattoos was necessarily the most productive thing he could do in this situation, but he also wasn’t sure he cared. “ _Maybe._ I’m not promising anything, but if you want to start coming up with ideas...”

That got him another kiss, sweet and almost chaste, considering they were lying naked in bed together. “Yeah, probably safer than just stripping you and letting Nat have her way. Though, that could be fun to watch, one day...”

By the way Steve’s eyes lit up, Bucky was not at all sure if they were still talking about tattoos or something totally different. The disconcerting part was that both options were equally appealing. Scratch that, arousing. He wasn’t sure whether it was the getting-with-Nat thing, or the Steve-watching-them thing, but both seemed to be working on him. And he couldn’t exactly hide that, given Steve was lying on top of him. “No, clearly, I’d want your design done by her —”

“And I’d want to see her on top of you,” Steve interrupted, brushing his fingers across Bucky’s mouth.

 _Oh. Right._ That was actually a thing Steve enjoyed. The few interactions Bucky and Nat had when they were all in bed together always drew very vocal praise from Steve. Bucky hadn’t ever thought of making that an intentional thing. He parted his lips and flicked his tongue against Steve’s fingertip. “Hmm. Well, come up with something good for her to do, and maybe you will.”

“Something for her to do,” Steve mused. “You mean a tattoo or something _else?_ ”

Bucky raised his eyebrows high, his pulse heavy in his throat. _Good question._ Even he wasn’t sure at this point. “Either one, I guess. _Maybe._ Depends on you and your imagination.” He kissed the tip of Steve’s middle finger, then took it into his mouth and sucked.

Steve’s grin was softened by the way his pupils went wide and dark. “Artist, baby,” he whispered. “Imagination’s what I do.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Tuesday, December 24, 2013**

Christmas at the Barnes household was usually an exercise in chaos. This year, though, Kimberly and Viola went to Boulder, Colorado, to spend the holiday at Aunt Ida’s llama farm, and Becky kept her nose buried in her smartphone to hide just how intimidated she was by their special guest. Not that Natasha looked at all out of place, with Steve sitting across from her and Fred picking her brain all through dinner with questions about how she’d done the black streaks in her hair.

“If you’ve got hair dye, I can show you,” Nat offered, gesturing with her fork, complete with half a meatball stuck to the end. “Only takes about forty-five minutes.”

“You mean _I_ can show you,” Steve corrected, throwing a grin Fred’s way. “I’m better than she is.”

Nat huffed. “You wish.”

“With brushes, not needles. I’ve gotcha, Fred. You need gold highlights. Black would get lost, unless we went lighter all over first.”

“What do you think?” Fred asked, glancing around the table.

Becky rolled her eyes. George shot Bucky a silent plea for help.

There was no way Bucky could actively stop this. Now that the ball had started rolling he had no recourse to even slow it down. The only way to counteract would be to go over-the-top. He winced at his father then smiled brightly. “Why not do the full rainbow?”

“Could you?” Fred asked, looking at Steve.

“Sure. Nat and I have before, for Pride and stuff. Works better if you’re buzzed, though. Makes the stripes neater.” He grinned at Bucky who tried to kick him under the table. Relentlessly, Steve added, “Bucky’s been doing my haircuts. Bet he could do yours.”

“Mom, I’m _not_ buzzing your hair.” Bucky gave Steve a dear-god-please-stop look, then tried to plead with Nat with only his eyebrows.

“Let’s start with gold highlights,” Steve told Fred as he nudged his foot against Bucky’s. “We can hit a drugstore tonight, if you’ve got one that’s open on Christmas Eve.”

Bucky was going to interrupt, but Fred’s grin made him shut his mouth. She nodded and patted Steve’s arm, saying, “I’d like that. And we can pick up ice cream.”

“Ben and Jerry’s?” George asked. It was amazing how the mention of dessert could slice through his usual distracted mental fog.

“Huh?” Steve asked Bucky quietly.

“Ben and Jerry’s. Dad’s favorite,” Bucky whispered into Steve’s right ear. “Probably —”

“Cake Batter, right?” Fred asked, and George grinned.

Bucky laughed. “Cake Batter.”

Steve’s eyebrow ring flashed as he frowned. “Cake batter what?”

“Ice cream flavor. You haven’t —” Bucky cut off and grinned. “You’ll love it. It’s like licking the bowl after baking a cake, without the risk of salmonella.”

 _“Ugh,”_ Becky groaned. “Mom, can I go before _science?_ ”

Fred glanced around the table, taking in the mostly-empty plates, then waved her hands to shoo them all away. “Go. But first, help your brother with the dishes. Natasha, make yourself at home. Steve, you’re with me. We’re going shopping.”

 

~~~

 

Apparently, three consultants was two too many for Fred and for the cramped little bathroom. Steve figured Bucky and Nat were just lonely — translation, too stupid to take advantage of some alone-time. Fred finally threw out everyone but Steve, who finished up the highlights much more quickly, without the extra help.

“Wait. How long do I keep this in?” Fred asked when Steve went to leave the bathroom. The words were just loud enough that he could make them out even with his back turned.

“Twenty-five minutes. You gonna need help taking out the tinfoil?”

She grinned, swiping at her phone, presumably to set a timer. “Nope. Tinfoil out, rinse until the water’s clear, then... Are you sure about that other conditioner?” she asked, nodding at the tub of cholesterol conditioner Steve had insisted on getting.

He nodded. “Trust me. Use that stuff as much as you can. Leave it in five minutes, ten if you don’t get bored —”

She interrupted with a sharp laugh, grinning down at her phone. “Oh, God. Look at this,” she said, holding the phone out to Steve.

He stepped back next to the stool where she was sitting and turned to look down at the phone. It showed a picture that was recognizably Viola, though she was a blur of movement, trying to duck away from a llama with a Santa hat falling off its head. “Wait. She’s _really_ at a llama farm?”

Fred nodded, tinfoil rustling in her hair. “This is going on Facebook. Go. Tell Bucky to check my page in two minutes.”

Steve left, trying not to be jealous that Bucky had such a cool mom. Fred had invited all of them over for Christmas — Nat, Steve, and Aunt Vera, who took shifts on every holiday but New Year’s for the extra pay. And even though Bucky’s sisters were pretty normal, both Fred and George had been as welcoming to Nat as Bucky had. No sidelong looks, no mutters or whispers that Steve had seen. It was almost like they were part of _this_ family, too.

Feeling curiously content with that, Steve went up to Bucky’s attic. The den was dark, except for the strings of Christmas lights that Viola had put up before she’d left for Colorado. Steve almost turned for the bedroom before movement caught his eye.

A bare shoulder, tinted pink and orange and blue from the lights, a hand running through dark hair, a soft moan.

 _Fuck, yes_. He should’ve known Nat wouldn’t let this sort of opportunity pass.

It looked like Bucky and Nat were fucking on the couch that faced away from the stairs. Bucky was sitting with his back to Steve, and Nat was straddling his lap. It looked like they were both stripped naked, and Steve grinned at Nat getting the pleasure of riding Bucky’s cock. She threw her head back as Bucky leaned down to take one of her nipples in his mouth before he said something indistinct but full of interest and appreciation.

Quietly, Steve circled the couch. And damn, they were still wearing their jeans — not that Nat wasn’t doing her best to grind down against Bucky anyway. She had her bottom lip caught between her teeth, probably to keep from making any noise that might draw attention. With Viola gone, they theoretically had privacy up here, but there was no sense in taking chances.

They only noticed him when he sat down at the far end of the couch, turned sideways to watch. Nat shot him a sly, pleased smile and didn’t stop moving. Bucky, however, stopped kissing her shoulder and looked up at Steve, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. “Sorry, babe. We tried to wait for you...”

“Why?” Steve got comfortable, one foot on the floor, the other on the cushions.

Bucky blinked. Then he looked up at Nat and held onto her hips to stop her moving. “Because you wanted to watch.” He reached out and took hold of Steve’s ankle.

“I’m here now,” Steve hinted. “Or should we move to the bedroom instead?”

“Yeah. That. You know Mom’s gonna wanna show off her hair...” Bucky wrapped his arms around Nat’s waist, then stood up and slowly let his grip loosen as she slid down his body, reluctantly dropping her legs just in time for her toes to reach the floor. Or, actually, when Steve glanced down, Bucky’s feet. Tiptoe on Bucky’s shoes was just tall enough for her to kiss him without making him bend his head, and she took full advantage, not even leaving an inch between their bodies.

“You still want to watch us, _kotik?_ ” she asked once the kiss ended and she took a step away.

“Fuck, yeah.” Steve got to his feet, shifting his hips against the tightness of his jeans. “I mean, if that’s okay, Bucky...”

Running his hand through his hair and hitching his jeans up, Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Um, okay. Just maybe, don’t hold back if you get inspired to join in?” He looked over at Nat to confirm that was okay.

“ _Myshonok_ , have you _ever_ known Steve to hold back?” Nat asked with a soft laugh. She swiped up her bra and T-shirt, then sauntered off towards the bedroom.

Steve grinned. “It was kinda a stupid question, Bucky.”

“I just...” Bucky hooked a finger through one of Steve’s belt loops and pulled him close until their hips were touching. Leaning down to touch their noses together, he continued. “I’ve never had an audience before and, I dunno, I don’t want you feeling left out or something.”

“Bucky...” Steve sighed, flattening his hands against Bucky’s chest. “How many times do I hafta tell you? _I’m not gonna get jealous_. This is Nat.”

“But the whole point of nights like this is for you to have us both at once, and I —”

“Fuck,” Steve interrupted, pulling away from Bucky to pace across the den. He was conscious of Nat watching from the bedroom door, though if she said anything, he didn’t hear it. “Do you _really_ not get it, Bucky? ’Cause this _isn’t_ just for me. How the fuck do you think _she_ feels, hearing you’re only —” He cut off, looking past Bucky to Nat. Had Steve misread this all, from the beginning?

“I’m —” A moment after Steve looked over at Nat, Bucky turned to do the same.

Nat raised an eyebrow.

Bucky shifted so he could look at both of them, and spoke just loud enough for Steve to hear. “I actually have no idea what I’m doing. My first real relationship, and I’m trying to navigate being with someone who already has a partner — who is also my close friend — and I’m just kinda lost in this. I don’t know what either of you want from me when it comes to the poly stuff, and I know I should have just asked, but... yeah.” He huffed a deep breath out so it ruffled his bangs. “I’m sorry.”

 _Sorry?_ What the hell did that mean? Steve felt like the ground dropped out from under his feet, because _sorry_ could easily slip into _it’s over_. Or maybe it _should_ , if Bucky hadn’t been serious about Nat this whole time.

Nat found the words that Steve couldn’t. She stepped back out into the den, calm and confident, and Steve was _so fucking proud_ that she didn’t get embarrassed or try to cover up. “So what now, Bucky?” she asked evenly.

“I... God,” Bucky stepped up to her and reached out his hands for hers. After a couple of seconds, she let him take her hands, though she didn’t step close to him.  “Nat, please don’t think I don’t want you or anything. I just know you only do casual, and I...” He looked over at Steve for a second, then back into Nat’s eyes. “I don’t know how this fits into that. Or, what you want. At all.”

“Does that matter?” she asked. “Or is this about you and Steve?”

As Bucky stared at her, open-mouthed, Steve started towards them. “Answer her.”

Bucky turned to Steve, his eyes wide, and looked back at Nat who was deadly still, and he started to visibly panic. “Whoa, what just happened? I’m asking for clarification here, and you two suddenly don’t —” He shook his head. “Look, I get that you share everything, but you don’t actually work the same way, so even though all three of us have been fucking since literally day one, I’m only dating one of you, which makes things kinda —”

“That’s it,” Nat interrupted. She pulled her hands free and looked down, separating the shirt and bra that she still held. “You’re only dating one of us.”

Steve caught at her hand, realizing that she was about to leave. “Nat —”

“Steve.” She looked at him, giving his hand a brief squeeze. “It’s all right.”

Steve looked from Nat to Bucky and back. All right? This was anything _but_ all right. This was exactly what he _didn’t_ want to happen — what he _thought_ they’d addressed, only... only maybe that was wishful thinking on his part.

 _“Wait.”_ Bucky’s voice cut through everything — Steve’s panic, Nat’s dressing, hell, even the fan of the heater shut off when he spoke — and he reached out to touch Nat’s chin. He didn’t lift it, just touched it and waited for her to raise her eyes to his. He was frowning in confusion, his eyes searching her face as he spoke. “Hang on. Are you upset because you want to _date_ me?”

“We’re not children,” she said, though Steve felt the way her hand tightened. “Just because we’re fucking —”

“Nat,” Steve interrupted. “No. It’s not fair. If we’re gonna do this, all three of us, then it’s _all three of us_.” He wanted to continue, to say that was the _only_ option, but he couldn’t bear the thought of giving up Bucky — of giving up either of them.

Bucky seemed to notice how her face was so still it looked like a mask and her eyes kept shifting down and to the side as if for a way out that she wasn’t taking, because his face softened. “Nat...” He crouched down so he could be in her line of sight and looked up at her with a clear, calm face. “ _Zaika._ Since that first night when you kissed me and left, all I’ve known about you is that you don’t date. That you and Steve have something special but other than that, no one lasts long at all. And I’m the opposite. I’d rather not date anyone than only be casual about it. So I didn’t think we were ever an option, no matter how much I liked you.”

“It’s not casual,” Nat said quietly, hand clenching painfully around Steve’s fingers. “It hasn’t been casual. It can’t be — not with you and Steve...”

“You mean, because we’re together? Because I don’t wanna trade on your closeness with him,” Bucky said.

Steve shook his head. “It’s —”

“What does that have to do with _us?_ ” Nat interrupted, still looking at Bucky.

A small smile played on Bucky’s lips when he answered, “Exactly my point. If we’re gonna do this, it has to be because we want to independently of Steve and how close we are with him.”

“And you don’t want to,” Nat finished.

“No, that’s not what —” Bucky closed his eyes and let out a breath before continuing, “I didn’t even know I _could_ want that until just this second. Darling, as close as I feel we’ve gotten recently, I don’t know you like Steve does. I can’t read you like him. But if you actually want this to be a triangle instead of a V, I definitely wanna try.” He reached out for her free hand.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice almost without inflection. She pulled free of Steve so she could switch her clothes to her other hand and let Bucky take hold of her.

Bucky huffed a short laugh. “I mean, I might be horrible at it. You guys really don’t understand how little experience I have with relationships, and attempting two of them at once could end in disaster, but yeah. I really want to. You’re amazing.” He brought her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips against her fingers, his eyes shining like the Christmas lights.

The tension locked up in Steve’s chest started to ease, just a little bit. Nat’s weight shifted towards Bucky. “Not just for Steve?” she asked, a hint of hesitation in her voice.

“Who’s Steve?” Bucky was grinning so hard it looked like it hurt. He glanced over at Steve and winked as he stood. “Oh, that guy? Yeah, I mean, he gave you a stellar recommendation, but I figured I better do my own research. And seriously, Nat. He didn’t even scratch the surface of how cool you are. For one, he completely glossed over how insanely smart you are. And I’m not good at making friends, but with you it was just so fucking easy. And god damn, you are gorgeous. And funny, and talented, and kind...” He stopped speaking when his slow movements toward her ended with their linked hands against his chest and their faces two inches apart.

She let the clothes fall so she could catch Bucky’s hand between both of hers. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Fuck, Nat, really?” Steve asked with a laugh that sounded almost desperate even to his ears. “Since when are any of us good at talking?”

“Yeah, that, _and_... you were unavailable. And you were Steve’s. Just ’cause I was, too, didn’t mean I had the right to... well, to even _think_ about this.” He grinned sheepishly. “But yeah, Steve’s right. You could have said something, too. At least in theory...”

As Nat took a breath, Steve cut in, “We’re done talking. It’s fucking Christmas Eve, so no more talking. Get in there, both of you.”

“No, but —” Bucky looked over at Steve with a stricken face. “I mean, yes, _fuck_ yes, but she was actually going to _say_ something for once.” His voice was almost a whine as he started to walk toward the bedroom, Nat’s hand still in his.

“You heard him, _myshonok_ ,” Nat said blandly, though the grin she threw back over her shoulder was fond and grateful. “Shut up, strip, and get on the bed.”

Bucky turned to pull Steve through the doorway, kissing his temple as he passed, then closed and locked the door. “Yes, ma’am.”

 

~~~

 

“You too, Steve.” Bucky busied himself with getting naked, then looked up to see Steve leaning against the door, grinning at them both.

“Pretend I’m not even here. At least until I butt in,” he said.

Nat huffed and threw herself on the bed, twisting so she landed on her back. “So that’s five minutes to ourselves. A little help here, Bucky?” she hinted, folding her hands behind her head. The position arched her back, showing off her breasts and her strong body.

Heading toward the bed, but giving Steve an ‘I’m-serious’ face, Bucky said, “C’mon, babe. I’d feel a lot more comfortable if you weren’t wearing clothes.”

“About two seconds after I drop my jeans, I’m getting distracted.” Steve pushed away from the door and sat down on the corner of the bed. “Worry about _her_ jeans first.”

“Don’t make me do all the work here, _myshonok_ ,” Nat said, not quite smirking, though Bucky could see the urge was there.

He climbed up onto the bed and crawled over her body, trailing his nose and lips up the denim from knee to hip. He took the waistband between his teeth and tugged slightly before he moved his mouth up her torso to the heavy swell of her breast. He lipped the dark pink areola as his hands unbuttoned and unzipped her pants, then pressed his mouth to her nipple as he slipped his hands under the waistband of her panties and slid them down to cup her ass. Hearing both of his lovers catch their breath at almost the same time got him so very hard.

Her back arched as he tongued the flesh to firmness, noticing how different it felt when there was no metal involved. “Why no nipple piercings, _zaika?_ ”

She lifted her head to stare at him. “Are you crazy? That shit _hurts_.”

Steve huffed and got on with stripping. “She did _my_ eyebrow and nose first, too.”

“And _you_ chickened out on this one,” she countered, toying with her belly button piercing. Perhaps in the spirit of the season, it had a red sparkly bead on the silver ring.

They really did sound like siblings sometimes. “Not a contest, kids. Besides, more variety for me.” Bucky smirked. “There’s gotta be _something_ I can use to tell you apart.”

“That means I get to pick where _you’re_ pierced,” Nat said, using some _very_ sketchy logic, as far as Bucky was concerned.

“Can I pick where you get a black widow?” Steve asked, nudging at Bucky’s leg with his right foot — the one with the tattooed ankle.

“Uh, on the topic of sex and needles, maybe we should think about STI testing?” Bucky suggested.

Steve and Nat exchanged a look. “Yeah. We can go to the hospital where Aunt Vera works. They’ve got a clinic there,” Steve said.

“I mean, I trust your equipment and procedures, Nat. I’m just also thinking about exclusivity. Not that I’m asking for that...”

Nat propped up on her elbows and gave Bucky a rare, serious look. “I haven’t... been with anyone else for a while now,” she said quietly.

Judging by the look on Steve’s face, that came as a surprise.

It made Bucky hesitant to ask his next question, but he figured he should. “Is that... something you want to continue, or...? Whatever’s fine, because also: birth control...” He hadn’t expected to end up at such an awkward moment so soon into this, but here they were, and if they were doing this, it needed to be addressed.

“Got that covered,” Nat said, briefly holding up one arm. Presumably, she’d gotten a depo shot. “Besides, you’re too cute to get snipped. You could have a whole pack of little Barneslings, one day.”

Steve snorted, trying to hold back a laugh. “You offering, Nat?”

“Oh, fuck that. Could you imagine me, with an internal parasite?”

The deadpan question made Steve lose what little composure he had. He twisted and buried his face in the pillows. All Bucky could think about was what the flat expanse of stomach under his chin would look like rounded out like a basketball.

“Wow, yeah. _That’s_ a beautiful image.” He blinked and looked at Nat, whose eyes went wide in horror.

“Ugh. Out, _myshonok_ ,” she said, giving him a playful kick. “You and me can have a kid the day they figure out how to make you sit in a nest on top of an egg.”

“Hey, I wasn’t saying I wanted it, just that it would be gorgeous. Your belly all round and your skin like rose-tinted porcelain...” Nat rolled her eyes and flopped back as Steve laughed even harder. Quickly, Bucky said, “Sorry, sorry. Never mind.”

“At least we know which of us is the family type,” Steve huffed out between laughs.

“Look, it’s not my fault you’re so fucking stunning...” Bucky mumbled as he leaned down to kiss Nat’s stomach and lick the belly button ring. He got his hands around her hipbones and nipped at her pelvis. “Up,” he breathed against her, and she lifted her hips as he slid his hands — and her jeans and panties — down her thighs, trailing his mouth down the newly exposed skin.

She let out a contented sigh and lifted her legs so he could strip her bare. As soon as the clothes hit the floor, she rubbed one foot against his side, saying, “Now get up here, _myshonok_. It’s not nice to keep me waiting.”

Steve rolled onto his side, still grinning, though he’d recovered from his laughing fit. “It’s true. She bites when she gets impatient.”

Leaning over to claim a kiss from Steve before things started to get serious, Bucky said, “And that’s a bad thing, why?”

“It’s not. Steve’s delicate,” Nat said.

“Uh huh,” Steve drawled. “I have you beat on number of piercings.”

“Yeah, try that counting tattoos. _After_ I’m done with Bucky,” Nat said, reaching up to wrap her arms around Bucky’s shoulders. “Come here, gorgeous.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Bucky breathed the words against her lips, as he fitted his body against hers. “God, you feel good.”

She hummed and licked at his lips, shifting her hips under him to press against his erection. Quietly, she spoke in Russian, kissing him between syllables. Her nails scratched over his shoulders and up the back of his neck to his scalp, the light touch sending tingles down his spine.

Running his hands up and down her sides, he took in the softness, heat, and scent of her skin. This was so much more surface area than he’d experienced with her before. He’d _seen_ her in the midst of multiple different sex acts already, but to feel her whole body as it shivered at his touch, _that_ was new. And delicious.

He couldn’t help but turn his head to look at Steve, knowing he’d enjoyed this experience and wanting to share in that enjoyment with him. Steve wasn’t hiding his appreciation of the view — nor was he making any move to join in. He’d piled up a couple of pillows so he could lounge comfortably on his side, watching them like a lazy, contented cat.

Turning his attention back to Nat, who he hadn’t paused in petting, Bucky asked, “Do you want my hand or my mouth, _zaika?_ ”

“Neither. I’d rather —” She cut off, sliding a hand down between their bodies to tease her fingertips over his foreskin with just enough pressure to make his breath catch. “Think you can be good for me and last a nice, long time?”

_Fuck._

“I can try. I’ve gotten better at that, I think.” His brain was already a bit fuzzy, paying too close attention to her hand instead of her voice. “But can I” — he reached his hand between them and ran his fingers through her short dark red curls — “learn a bit first?”

She smiled and braced her feet on the bed to push her hips up against his hand. “All you want, _myshonok_. In fact, Steve was trying to talk me into piercings down there. It’d be nice to get a second opinion,” she said, flashing a quick smile at Steve.

Bucky smiled at once having worried whether Steve had a Prince Albert and wondered how painful a hood piercing actually was. _When had this become his life?_

“Hmm. I’ll let you know.” Brushing his fingers down over her vulva and pressing just enough to feel her slick heat, he sighed into her mouth, “Oh, God, you’re so wet. Fuck.”

“Your fault,” she said with another insistent push of her hips. “Kissing you — your mouth —” was as far as she got in English.

Steve leaned over and tugged on a lock of her hair. “You’re in America, Nat. Speak American.”

She rolled her eyes and called him something that sounded both poetic and impolite, at least in Russian. Then she looked back up at Bucky and said, “Explore all you want, _myshonok_. We have all night.”

All Bucky wanted was to put his mouth on her, but he’d have to use a dental dam until they got tested, and half the joy of that was getting his face wet and learning what she tasted like. So he curled his finger to drag the tip of it between her labia, relishing the glide of her body’s own lubricant. “You know, you could be useful, Steve, and play translator.”

“Uh-uh,” Steve said smugly. “Nobody translated for me when I was learning.”

“We were, what, eight? Ten?” Nat asked. “I’m not teaching him to play tag. Concentrate, _myshonok_. Ignore him.”

“I’m not _learning_ learning,” Bucky said. “I’ve done this before. Not like with you, _kotik._ ”

“Hey, you did pretty damn good with me,” Steve pointed out.

“Focus, both of you, before one of you gets kicked out of the room,” Nat threatened.

It had been a long time since Bucky had been this intimate with a female-bodied person, and in some ways it was so different from being with Steve that he had to adjust, but in others — mostly in paying attention to how his lover reacted and what they liked — it was exactly the same, especially because Nat and Steve had many of the same mannerisms in bed. Bucky was pretty sure they were each other’s first, and in exploring and learning what they liked, it seemed they had developed their own little patois of movements and noises — sighs and moans and hand motions. They even tugged on his hair the same way, which made Bucky’s job a lot easier. He and Steve had been together long enough that he knew exactly what got Steve off, so getting to study Nat this extensively was a distinct pleasure.

She was right — they didn’t need to rush — and unlike his first time with Steve, Bucky didn’t feel the anxiety of being too eager or doing anything wrong. He was more sure of himself now, but also this was more familiar. Not so mindblowing. Still insanely pleasurable.

With his mouth, he tested her neck, nipples, and belly ring for sensitivity and was rewarded with delightfully positive reactions from each. He explored the shape and length of her clit, rubbing it between finger and thumb while he continued kissing her all over until she moaned and couldn’t catch her breath. Then he slowly and gently dipped his middle finger in, curling it automatically to search for the prostate, then remembering where he was and feeling along the vaginal wall to find her g-spot. Combining that press of his finger with his mouth on her nipple had her groaning loudly and raising her hips, seeking more.

He slid another finger in and rubbed along her clit with his thumb until she pushed up against his hand with a quiet, satisfied cry. “That’s good, _myshonok_. Very good.”

The praise made him flush hot, especially under Steve’s watchful eye. He hadn’t quite gotten the hang of the progression of a female orgasm — it had a different trajectory than the slow build to explosion of male orgasm. It always seemed more like a chemical reaction with a high activation energy: put the work in, get the reaction good and started, and hang on for the ride.

But he wasn’t quite sure how far he should go before he let up on his research and pleased her like she wanted. When he was focused on her like this, he could keep the insistent tug of his own arousal from making him lose his balance, but what she had asked for was going to tax his self-control. Steve liked playing this game as well, but he was too impatient to really make Bucky sweat. Nat, on the other hand... He had no delusions that she would enjoy delaying ultimate gratification for as long as she could. That was something that Bucky didn’t want to admit made him even more keenly aware of his erection.

He hadn’t stopped moving his hand inside of and against her, so he stopped gently tugging on her belly button ring with his teeth to ask, “More of this, then? Or...”

“Hmm. I think ‘or’,” she said, and her confident, calm tone of voice was just strained enough that Bucky caught his breath. The feedback loop of getting hot himself when he’d gotten his partner aroused had just closed its circuit. “ _Kotik_ , help us out here?”

“Hey. I’m not here to do _work_ ,” Steve protested.

She shot Steve a look. “Tell me you honestly don’t want to get your hands on his cock.”

“Oh, God.” The words came out of Bucky’s mouth on his exhale without his permission. He’d been so focused on Nat, he’d forgotten the potential for Steve to be involved. It made him lose his breath all over again.

“Oh. Well, yeah,” Steve said, inching closer. “You didn’t —”

“A condom, _kotik_ ,” Nat interrupted sternly. Then she looked up into Bucky’s eyes and smiled. Much more softly, seductively, she added, “ _If_ you want to get inside me, that is.”

“Please.” Again, something he didn’t mean to say came out, though to be fair, it was actually his legit reaction. He leaned down to breathe quietly into her ear, “That was my definition of ‘or’, since I can’t get my mouth on you yet.”

In answer, she touched his face and pulled him in for a kiss that was slow but deep. The gentle brush of her tongue contrasted beautifully with the hard metal post of her piercing. She got her fingers into his hair, combing through the strands, and Bucky lost himself in her, his tongue and his fingers mirroring each other’s motions, until he felt Steve’s always-cold fingers touch his hip. A flinch made room for Steve to get his hands beneath Bucky’s body. He cupped his fingers around Bucky’s cock and stroked a few times, stopping only when Nat growled in wordless warning.

“Sorry,” Steve said, sounding utterly unrepentant. As if to prove that, he did it again, one hard, slow stroke that made Bucky’s breath hitch.

This time, Nat’s Russian definitely sounded more threatening than endearing, ending only when Bucky caught her with another kiss. Steve laughed and shifted position so he could get both hands in place. He rolled the condom on, sneaking a couple of open-mouthed kisses over Bucky’s hip and back as he did.

Then Steve slid one hand down Bucky’s arm to his wrist. “Ease out, babe,” he said.

 _Oh. Right._ Nat’s mouth and Steve’s hands had made Bucky forget where they were headed. He slid his fingers slowly out of Nat, already missing the warm, welcoming wetness, and pulled his mouth away to kiss down her jaw and nose behind her ear. She made a little noise of protest that turned into a sigh as Steve’s hand guided Bucky’s cock into place. The sudden pressure — and then the release of pressure, as Bucky slipped into her body — made them both let out deep groans.

Nat rolled her hips up and pressed her legs against Bucky’s sides, pulling him deeper into her body. “That’s it, _myshonok_. Don’t move yet. Fuck, you feel good,” she whispered.

“Oh, God, Nat. Yes. Jesus, I can’t. Not yet.” His breath was strained with processing too much, his eyes so tightly shut he saw stars. The snug sensation of being inside her was so familiar and so different at the same time, and he took a moment to feel awe that she had let him in so readily. Not that it was physically easy, but that she wanted him this way. He still barely believed it.

Steve ran his hand up Bucky’s spine, then leaned in close to whisper in his ear, “She likes it slow and smooth and deep, babe.”

“I heard that,” Nat said with a little laugh that Bucky felt ripple through her body.

“But you know I’m good at following directions so...” When he could breathe enough to move, he dragged himself slowly back and then pushed steadily all the way in again. He paused for breath, and Nat’s legs tightened against his sides. He did it again, not any quicker, but with a bit more force, making Nat let out a sharp, quick moan.

“Perfect. Just like that,” Steve said, resting his hand on the small of Bucky’s back. “How does she feel?”

Nat’s huff tightened her body around Bucky’s cock, breaking his rhythm and making him gasp. “ _She_ feels just fine,” she said archly.

Steve laughed. “A little harder, Bucky. If she can still talk, you’re not distracting enough.”

Bucky huffed at their banter. It never let up, even in bed. “I don’t want her distracted. I want her really fucking focused.” He drew out very slowly, then thrust in fast enough to make himself grunt at the spike of pleasure. Nat’s moan broke into a sharper cry, and Steve swore under his breath, eyes going wide and dark.

And that was when Bucky realized he didn’t have to fall into the same patterns that Steve did with Nat. He wasn’t Steve, and he didn’t fuck like Steve did. The thought was incredibly freeing.

So he did it again, a slow withdrawal and a sharp, fast thrust back inside, and Nat’s moan was definitely closer to a needy whimper. Her nails drew sharp little pinpricks of pain over his shoulders. Bucky took that as a good sign and kept going, slow-then-fast, slow-then-fast. Nat’s fingers curled over his shoulders, holding on tightly, and her hips rolled to meet his thrusts.

Steve swore and lay down on his side next to Nat, who dropped one hand to touch his fingers. But with Bucky’s next thrust, she grabbed at his shoulder again, eyes falling closed. It took Bucky what might have been forever to realize Nat and Steve were breathing in nearly perfect rhythm, and even longer to see that Steve had one hand down between his legs, movements timed to Bucky’s thrusts. He almost offered to take over that job, but he had more than enough to do already, and if he had Nat’s full attention, he should be giving his as well.

And that wasn’t hard to do, given how fucking gorgeous she was. Her responses were vocal and physical and she lost herself to her pleasure so much that Bucky couldn’t look away — her eyelashes fluttering, her mouth open and expressing her pleasure, her strong arms holding him tightly, her even stronger legs pressing and guiding and rubbing against him. Those nails.

Hearing Steve’s breathing change, his gasps and grunts and whimpers, just added to Bucky’s awareness of the moment and fueled his desire. Again, as had happened the first time, he felt as though they were both dependent on him for their pleasure. It was intoxicating.

But with Nat, for the first time not having Steve as proxy between them, he felt that his desire for a deep connection with her was being fulfilled. And by the way that she responded, especially pulling him down into a kiss as he got her ever closer to the edge, he understood she was feeling it too. He hadn’t ever expected this from her. In his mind, she had been a self-sufficient island — one that Steve had beached himself on and made a home. But of course he knew nothing about what they were like alone together, and their deep connection had never seemed something that could be fully shared with anyone else, even him.

And yet, here they were. And Bucky was so grateful to have her this close, he found himself swallowing around a lump in his throat. She wanted to be with _him_ — not excluding Steve, but apart from him. _A triangle,_ Bucky thought as he listened to her whispering in Russian, _and not a vee_.

Then she dug her nails in hard, startling him, and she tightened her legs around his hips, holding him deep inside her body. He had just enough time to draw breath before he felt the tight, pulsing clench and heard her moan turn to rhythmic, panted cries. He gritted his teeth and fought his own body’s need to follow her into release, because he knew she’d want more. They both would.

All three of them would.

Slowly, she relaxed and let out a shuddering, sated breath. She blinked her eyes open and smiled up at him. “ _Very_ nice, _lyubov moya_.”

Before Bucky could ask what that meant, he heard a now-familiar change in Steve’s breathing, and when he looked to the side, he realized Steve was really close. Nat turned to watch with a lazy smile, though she didn’t say anything or reach out to touch Steve. Instead, she looked back up at Bucky and deliberately pushed her hips up against him.

“Ready for more, _myshonok_?”

That was a word he knew, and he latched onto it, letting the others fall away, thinking he’d remember to ask Nat or Steve later. Now he needed focus if he was going to last much longer than the two seconds it would take Steve to finish. “Whatever you want, _zaika,_ darling.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Wednesday, December 25, 2013**

Something tickled lightly over Bucky’s back — not a tap-tap-tap, like a skittering bug, but a light, gentle slide, narrowed down to a pinpoint. Sleep tugged at Bucky, urging him back into darkness, but the touch moved, like a little tap, then another shivery-soft brush down along his spine.

“Mmm, that’s nice,” Nat said very softly, from somewhere down by Bucky’s hip.

“Cobalt blue,” Steve answered. A moment later, Bucky felt another touch, just under his shoulder blade. It made his muscles twitch.

_What was it?_

“Mmmfph.” Bucky had been so tired out by both of his lovers the night before that he didn’t have much more in him than a muffled noise of not-quite-protest.

“Stay,” Nat ordered, flattening a hand on the back of Bucky’s neck.

“Mornin’, babe,” Steve added, though it sounded odd, as if he had something in his mouth.

“Go back to sleep,” Nat added, squeezing and relaxing her hand in an impromptu massage.

This time the noise Bucky made was a groan of I’ll-protest-if-you-stop. But after a minute of bliss at Nat’s hand, he still couldn’t figure out what he was feeling, and sleep wouldn’t come until he knew. “What are you doing? Lemme up.”

“Stay,” Steve said, touching a finger to the middle of Bucky’s back. “I’m drawing.”

“It’s gorgeous,” Nat added.

_Oh._

Well, _that_ was awesome. He’d been fantasizing about getting a tattoo and then freaking out about the commitment involved, but this was perfect. Steve’s art on him, but without the pain and permanence. “I wanna see.” He didn’t try to move while he felt Steve’s finger and what he could now recognize as a soft-tipped pen touching his back, but he wanted to, the moment he could.

Nat moved away, saying, “Cover his butt, _kotik_. He’s probably shy.”

Steve laughed and slapped Bucky’s hip, then shifted to pull the blanket up to the small of his back. “It’s not done. And no, it’s not permanent,” he said over the faint _click_ of a cell phone camera.

Nat flopped down next to Bucky and kissed his cheek, then offered her phone. The photo showed a slightly blurry shot of Bucky’s back. Steve’s drawing had started in the middle and radiated out. It was a stylized stand of trees and water, like a river or pond, with a big, grinning mouse off to one side. It looked very much like the sly black cat tattooed on Steve’s shoulderblade.

“It’s just — I’m just playing,” Steve said nervously.

“Jesus, that’s incredible. Play all you want. Seriously.” Bucky zoomed in on the picture, hoping to get a better idea of the brushwork, but it was too blurry. “I knew there was a good reason I slept on my stomach. Now you’ve got a live-in canvas.” He smiled at Nat as he handed back her phone.

Nat’s expression was full of relief. She cuddled up next to Bucky and ran her fingers over his cheek. “Sleep okay, _myshonok?_ ”

“Yeah. It felt really good to have you in my bed. Both of you, but I get him all the time. How ’bout you?” He turned his head to kiss her fingers, wanting to kiss her lips, but not wanting to move for fear of disrupting Steve.

Nat’s answer was more of a purr than a word. “I think you should get just the mouse done. Maybe here” — she reached to touch the back of Bucky’s shoulder — “where Steve has his _kotik_.”

“Only if you want,” Steve added.

She rolled her eyes, grinning. “Only if you want,” she agreed.

“Consensual tattooing is a must in this relationship, Nat.” Bucky grinned at her and pulled her close for a kiss.

“Meaning no surprise ass-tats,” Steve said, which ended the kiss abruptly when Nat burst into laughter.

“I wasn’t the one who said it, but yeah. Please.” Bucky risked Steve’s wrath to catch Nat in another kiss. “But I’ll think about it. The mouse, I mean.”

Steve went back to drawing on Bucky’s back. “Nat. Show him what —”

“Oh.” Nat twisted away, shaking the bed.

“Careful!”

“Sorry.” She leaned over the edge, which gave Bucky a beautiful view of her ass — free of tattoos. When she came back up, she was holding a small box.

“That’s for Viola,” Steve said as Nat moved back to Bucky’s side, much more carefully. “We, uh, didn’t exactly know what to do about your other sisters. Maybe earrings or something.”

“Or I can pierce their ears. Nowhere your mom would disapprove of,” Nat added.

Steve snorted. “I don’t think Fred would disapprove of anything. She’s fucking awesome.”

“So’s Vera.” Bucky shot the remark over his shoulder. “And Kim and Becky both have pierced ears. Though after last night, Becky might want a couple more piercings to look as cool as Nat.” He stretched out his hand for the box. “Can I open it?”

“Earrings, then,” Nat said, sounding relieved. She handed Bucky the box, then rolled over and got up off the bed. “I brought some of my stock. Help pick something they’ll like?”

“Nat’s stuff is all local artists,” Steve said. “Stuff you get on Etsy, not flea markets.”

“None of that creepy Etsy stuff, though. Picking shit out of a trash can and calling it upcycled,” Nat scoffed.

Inside the box was a bracelet that looked like a spiderweb at first, but only because Bucky had been staring at Nat’s shoulder-tattoo. The pattern wasn’t quite right, though — and then it clicked. It was a molecule, though he couldn’t immediately identify which one. It was a hexagonal carbon ring that looked almost like a star...

“TNT?” he guessed, trying to decide the wisdom of giving V even this tacit approval when it came to explosives. _Whatever._ The design was too cool for him to actually care.

Nat grinned. “It seemed appropriate.”

“You’re perfect.” Bucky wanted to kiss her again, but more than three times in the first five minutes of being awake seemed like overkill. Just because they were dating didn’t mean she wasn’t still Nat. “She’s gonna love it.”

“Perfect. Got any newspaper so I can wrap it while you pick stuff for your sisters?”

“Can we focus here?” Steve complained, moving from kneeling beside Bucky to straddling his thighs. “Artist at work and all that shit.”

Bucky got the distinct pleasure of realizing Steve was naked. “It’s Christmas. Presents take priority.”

Steve swatted at Bucky’s ass, then poked the middle of his back with the pen. “Who says this isn’t my present for your mom? She likes art, right?”

Bucky rolled his eyes and just barely resisted the urge to roll over onto his back. It was only the certainty that Steve would get well and truly upset with him if he smudged it — and then try to play it off like it didn’t mean anything — that kept him from following said urge. “What? It’s not for _me?_ I’m offended.”

“You can’t see it on your back, _myshonok_ ,” Nat pointed out. “If it was for you, he’d be drawing it on your cock.”

Bucky tried not to giggle at Nat’s logic as he said, “Then it _still_ wouldn’t be a present for me. I don’t look at my cock half as much as he does.”

Steve snorted and tossed the pen aside. “I hate you both,” he said, though he was grinning maniacally as he flopped down beside Bucky. “Want me to draw down there anyway?”

Bucky leaned in to speak softly near Steve’s ear. “I’m not about to spend family time on Christmas Day with the feeling of your pen on my foreskin fresh in my mind.” He rubbed his nose against Steve’s cheek to get him to turn for a kiss. He obliged with a smile.

“So no piercing either?” Nat asked, snuggling up on Steve’s other side.

“Not until after birthday season — Becky and Kim and I are all in the next three months — so I’d have time to get used to it.” Bucky realized what he’d said when he saw Steve’s wide eyes and Nat’s grin, and he amended his statement. “I mean, no. Fuck. You’re a horrible influence, _zaika._ Stop.”

She propped up on one arm and leaned over Steve, saying, “I’ll mark my calendar,” before she gave Bucky a kiss on the cheek.

Steve laughed like a hyena. “She will, too.”

“Darling, I care deeply about you and I trust your artistic vision and your skill at your chosen profession, but I will _not_ let you pierce my cock. Sorry. Even Steve knows better than to allow that.” Bucky knew his grin was undermining a good half of what he said, but he was pretty sure she’d heard it anyway.

“Ears?” she proposed. “Belly button? Nipples?”

Steve sighed. “At least she didn’t —”

“Or we could go exotic,” Nat interrupted. “There are all sorts of other places that nobody would ever see... nobody but me and Steve. It could be our” — she kissed Bucky — “little” — another kiss — “secret.”

More charmed than he had any right to be — given what she was talking about — and refusing to show it too much, Bucky got mock-indignant. “Where the hell did you find her, Steve? She’s a menace.”

“She broke into the staff locker room and was rifling through the nurses’ stuff,” Steve said.

“I didn’t _break in_ ,” Nat declared in a profoundly innocent tone. “I _walked_ in. Not my fault that I was short for my age, and nobody looked down.”

Steve laughed. “You were going through Mom’s purse.”

“Can’t blame me for being curious. It’s an endearing quality in a child.”

“Wait, wait. Seriously? This is how you met?” Bucky was having a hard time believing them, given that the content of the story was so at odds with the way they told it.

Nat shrugged. “I was bored. The emergency room isn’t very entertaining for a kid who’s not looking for a career in medicine.”

“Then what were you doing there?” Bucky wasn’t sure he should be asking this question, but they both seemed oddly calm about the whole thing, so he put it out there as lightly as he could. No matter what the answer was, he wanted to know.

Another shrug. “My father was there. The cops weren’t paying attention to me, so I left. I didn’t feel like waiting around for Social Services or whatever to get there.”

Remembering that Steve had said Nat’s dad was put in jail, that gave a very vivid but very incomplete image of things. Bucky could somehow see a tiny Nat getting ready to strike out on her own in the big city with just a little boost from someone’s purse. He wanted to press for more information, but he was already surprised at how much she’d volunteered, so he tried to tread lightly. “Why were you with him if the cops were there?”

“I was in the getaway car. They didn’t know what else to do with me, I guess.” She smirked. “People rarely do.”

“Hey,” Steve protested. “I did.”

“You showed me how to break into the vending machine.”

“You were hungry. I got you chips.”

“My knight,” she said dryly.

 _My two little criminals,_ was all Bucky could think. He changed tack and turned to Steve. “So, how is _your_ nickname kitten when you’re the one who brought home the stray?”

“Because _somebody_ lied to me and said _kotik_ meant bear, like _kodiak_.”

“You actually said ‘Kodak’, but we’ll let that slide,” Nat said.

“I was like eight years old!”

“We were younger.” Nat turned her smile on Bucky. “I convinced Steve’s mom to convince the cops to let her take me home for a few days while they got Social Services sorted out. By the time they did, I convinced my dad to sign papers letting me stay with them instead of going into the system.”

“You _blackmailed_ your dad, you mean,” Steve corrected.

“It was for a good cause.”

“Do I even want to know what leverage you had that got you a new mom and brother with one signature?” Bucky couldn’t help being very impressed with the number and complexity of survival skills Nat had picked up in about seven years, though it gave him no confidence in her father’s fitness as a parent.

“Ew. Not a brother, Bucky,” Nat scolded.

Steve rolled his eyes. “It was a hell of a lot more than one signature, too, but she did everything perfectly. Plus things were different back then.”

“And I had a whole network of criminal contacts,” Nat said with an innocent little smile.

Bucky couldn’t keep his eyes from going wide as dinner plates at that. _La Femme Nikita_ — Little girl victorious. He turned to Steve. “No wonder you were in love from the get-go. Who doesn’t want a criminal mastermind as a best friend when they’re seven?”

“I shared valuable life skills,” Nat said sweetly.

“You taught me to forge your dad’s signature _after_ he was already dead,” Steve said. “How’s that valuable?”

“It’s not my fault you never learned to apply the skill to _other_ signatures. You’re an artist. It should’ve come naturally to you.”

“And anyway, lockpicking.” Bucky was starting to see where this was headed now, and he was very close to getting them to spend the rest of the morning reminiscing about their childhood. It was far more interesting than his, and no matter what had happened, at least they’d had each other.

Grinning, Steve wiggled his fingers at Bucky, saying, “It’s all a matter of dexterity.”

“I _did_ encourage that practice,” Nat said slyly.

Steve burst out laughing. “Like she said, Bucky. _Not_ brother and sister. It never came to any sort of custody. She emancipated when her dad died.”

“It was that or I _would_ have gotten trapped in the system,” Nat said more seriously. “Fortunately, I also knew a couple good lawyers.”

Bucky was too stuck on the image of Steve’s hands to register anything past that. “Sorry, hang on. Is picking locks anything like giving a girl a handjob?”

“Wanna practice and find out?” Nat offered.

“Hey. If we’re _not_ going to deal with Christmas morning shit, I’m going back to drawing,” Steve insisted. “You had him last night.”

Her smile turned greedy. “Mmm, that I did.”

“Later, baby.” Bucky winked at Nat, but pitched his voice for Steve’s ears. “We really should go down for breakfast and presents at least. Also, coffee.”

“Coffee,” Steve repeated. “Yeah, okay. Coffee. Let’s do that.”

“Predictable,” Nat said with a sigh.

“Easily manipulated.” The grin on Bucky’s face was bordering on wicked. “You learned that early. I’m just catching up.”

 

~~~

 

“Don’t move,” Steve warned when Bucky went to lean forward to pick up his eggnog. Now that Becky had gone to a friend’s house for the night, Fred’s latest batch of eggnog was positively flammable. Two small glasses had left Bucky unusually relaxed — the perfect subject for a drawing, with the multi-colored Christmas lights glowing against his winter-pale skin. What was the sense in having all these new colored pens if Steve couldn’t practice with them, after all?

Instead, Nat picked up Bucky’s drink and handed it to him. In her free hand, she was holding Fred’s iPad. She’d been talking to Viola for the last twenty minutes or so. Steve had no idea what was so damned interesting. He couldn’t hear her over the whirr of the fans George had installed to keep the excessive Christmas lights cool.

Nat and Viola were probably planning their criminal empire, with bonus llamas.

The thought made him stop so he could giggle without smudging the drawing. Bucky wasn’t the only one who’d had a couple of refills of eggnog, and Steve was also feeling unusually relaxed. Hell, everyone was. Even George had pushed aside his usual sense of distraction and coaxed Fred into going upstairs early.

“What’s so funny?” Nat asked suspiciously, pitching her voice so Steve could hear.

Thoughtlessly, Steve answered, “Criminal llamas.”

Bucky snorted a laugh and looked fondly over at Steve. It was an expression that never failed to make his heart jump because it held a level of admiration Steve had no idea what to do with. “Are you done, yet? I want you over here on the couch with us.” He went to pat the couch cushion and ended up patting Nat’s thigh.

Nat smacked his hand. “Not in front of your sister,” she scolded sharply, and Steve heard Viola’s laugh even through the iPad’s tiny speakers.

“Then hang up on her.” Bucky leaned over to rest his temple on Nat’s shoulder and get in the frame of the FaceTime camera. “V, I love you, but I want my girlfriend back. Talk to you in the morning.”

Steve missed whatever Viola answered. He set aside his mostly-finished sketch, carefully capped all of his pens, then got up and made his way around the coffee table. As soon as Nat put down the iPad, Steve crawled over her lap to sprawl across both of them. “Just your girlfriend or me, too?” he asked, looking up at Bucky.

“Of course, you. I just don’t have to vie with my family for your attention. Not since I talked to Fred about cornering you.” Bucky brushed his fingers along Steve’s jaw and grinned down at him.

“Since you _what?_ ” Steve asked before he caught Bucky’s thumb with a quick kiss.

“She thinks you’re her personal fashion consultant now, and I was sick of her trapping you in discussions about who-knows-what all the time.” Bucky said, sounding unusually jealous. He’d always been so calm about Nat’s place in Steve’s life that Steve figured Bucky _couldn’t_ get jealous.

He couldn’t hide a laugh that came out a little closer to a tipsy giggle, and he sat up to kiss Bucky’s chin. “You’re adorable.”

“And you’re drunk,” Nat accused. “Both of you.”

Steve huffed and crooked a finger to beckon her. “C’mere and say that to my face.”

“That makes no sense, _kotik_. I _am_ here,” she said, deadpan, and smacked his thigh where it lay across her lap.

“Just kiss him, Nat. And have some more eggnog, now that you aren’t planning to take over the world with an eleven-year-old.” Bucky took advantage of Steve sitting up to scoot closer to Nat, just as she leaned over, and they ended up in a tangle of body parts, with Bucky’s arm trapped against Steve’s abdomen by Nat’s chest. Bucky flexed his fingers at just the wrong — or right — moment, and Steve half-gasped, half-laughed into the kiss.

Nat rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t quite hide her smile. “I _knew_ letting the two of you drink was a mistake.” She stood up so abruptly that Steve nearly fell off the couch. He saved himself only by clinging to Bucky. “Steve, sit up.”

“But _Nat,_ ” he whined, drawing it out.

“We’re fine, Nat. Come on. Come back.” Bucky sounded much more focused and serious, allowing only a tiny hint of a whine in his last sentence.

“Hush, _myshonok_.” Nat shot Steve a stern look, and he gave in, knowing just how stubborn she could get. He sat up, though he stuck close to Bucky’s side —

Which was apparently the right decision. Nat climbed on top of both of them, stretched out on her back like a cat wanting her belly rubbed. She reached back for the throw pillows, which she stuck under her head, and then arched her pierced brow up at them.

“Well, boys?”

“Well, _what,_ exactly?” Bucky’s voice was now much lower and held a new note of interest. He slid his hand under the hem of her shirt and, Steve guessed by the way it moved, started playing with her belly button ring.

Nat smiled at him. “You called me your girlfriend.”

“Hey. Yeah,” Steve said, grinning at Bucky. “You did.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide, and he suddenly sounded much younger than he was. “Was that wrong? I didn’t mean... I’m sorry —”

“You _didn’t_ —” Nat began.

“Oh, no,” Steve interrupted sharply. “We’re not fucking around with this anymore.”

“This?” Nat asked.

“This! This... fucked-up talking shit. Talking _wrong_ , I mean, ’cause we all _suck_ at it.”

Bucky let out a deep breath and stared at Steve for a bit before he turned back to Nat, much more composed. “It made sense to me when I said it, given our conversation — and our actions — last night. If you don’t want me to use that term, that’s fine.” His hand was still resting on her stomach, but it had stopped moving, only rising and falling with her breath.

Irritated, Steve said, “She didn’t say —”

“I liked it,” Nat interrupted quietly.

“Ah. Well, good.” Bucky’s hand started moving again, and he smiled down at Nat for a moment before turning to Steve. “What about you, babe?”

Steve looked down at Nat. “I dunno. Wanna be my girlfriend?”

She smirked. “I suppose I can manage that. I’ve never been ‘girlfriend’ material before, for anyone. But I can’t fuck it up worse than you two, with all your ‘he’s straight’ and ‘he doesn’t like me’ shit.”

Steve huffed and leaned against Bucky’s shoulder. “Are we sure we _want_ her as our girlfriend?”

Grinning back and forth at the two of them, then settling his gaze on Steve, Bucky replied, “I already said my piece about that. I was asking if you wanted me to use the word ‘boyfriend’.”

“Fuck, yeah,” Steve said, unable to keep from returning the grin, even though he knew he looked ridiculous. In a too-casual tone, he added, “I mean, fuck-buddies don’t do this sort of thing, and I kinda _like_ cuddling on the couch with you.”

“Romance is dead,” Nat declared.

“Huh?”

“Look at you two. You _are_ allowed to say the L-word, you know.”

“We already have!” Steve insisted.

“Oh, is _that_ what you want here?” Bucky grinned at Nat as he scooted into a more upright position so his face could reach hers when he bent down. He continued as he brushed his nose against the tip of hers, “You wanna hear me say it to him? Or to you?”

He’d started out playful, but had shifted to serious. Steve knew that tone, and he felt something inside his chest lock up and go tense. _This_ , with the three of them, was too special to lose. But for all that he’d known Nat forever, he had no idea if she _wanted_ a relationship beyond the obvious sexual benefits. Trying to get his brain to work, he opened his mouth to say something — what, he had no idea — when Nat spoke up instead.

“Do you want to?” she asked almost too quietly for Steve to hear.

Lips a hairsbreadth from hers, Bucky whispered one word into her mouth. Then, a bit louder, he said, “Wanted to last night. I was afraid you didn’t wanna hear it.”

She lifted her hand and touched his face. “And if I do?” she asked, a little catch in her voice betraying her tension.

“Then that makes everything a lot easier.” Bucky pulled his hand out from under her shirt and placed it lightly on top of her hand. “I love you, Natasha.”

Steve had to blink and look away, suddenly terrified that he’d do or say something to fuck this all up. He couldn’t watch as Nat said, “Love you, too, Bucky,” or as they moved — a kiss, he guessed. Then he felt a touch on his arm, and he turned to meet Nat’s eyes. _“Chto ne tak, kotik?”_

Steve shook his head. “Nothing. I’m... I just don’t want to lose this. What we have together. All three of us.”

“We won’t, _lyubov moya_ ,” she reassured him.

“Wait, say that again.” Bucky’s eyes went sharp on Nat’s face.

She frowned up at him. “It’s a little tough to pronounce. _Lyubov_ ,” she said slowly.

Bucky mouthed the word once before he spoke. “You said that last night. What does it mean?”

Nat’s cheeks went dark, and Steve realized _when_ she must have said it. “My love,” he translated, looking from Bucky to Nat and back again.

As he looked at Steve, Bucky’s face went blank and then broke into a joyful smile. He reached around Nat’s shoulders and hauled her up to sitting on his lap, still within the circle of his arms. “You said it first? _You?_ Well, fuck.” He hugged her tight and kissed her cheek. “I have no fucking clue how I got so lucky — with both of you — but, damn. Merry Christmas.”

Relief made Steve laugh just a little crazily. He twisted so he could get his arms around them both and hid his face against Bucky’s shoulder. Nat’s arm slid around his waist, nails scratching lightly over his T-shirt. “Love you both,” Steve whispered. “And nobody’s gonna be a self-sacrificing asshole about it. Deal?”

Nat laughed and kissed his ear. “What was that about romance?”

“Bucky,” Steve hinted.

“What? She’s your girlfriend as much as mine...” Bucky’s voice held an indulgent smile, and Steve felt a kiss on the top of his head.

“It’s going to take _months_ to civilize both of you,” Nat predicted.

Steve lifted his face and got a hand in her hair so he could pull her close for a kiss that was anything but civilized. The appreciative noise that Bucky made as he presumably watched was damned close to a purr. When he finally let go, he turned, and Bucky was right there, waiting for his own kiss.

It was more than he’d ever imagined having. Nat was a part of his life, and he didn’t have to leave her to be with Bucky. He never thought he’d fall in love with someone — well, other than Nat — and now he could have them both. But more importantly, they both loved each other. They could all be together, not fighting over who got to be with whom.

It was _perfect_.

“Okay, one question.” Bucky didn’t break the three-way hug when he broke the silence. “Does being civilized by you involve the use of handcuffs?”

Steve started to answer, but Nat slapped a hand over his mouth, silencing him. “Why don’t we go upstairs and discuss it? All three of us...”

Bucky’s eyebrows met his hairline as his mouth curved into an impish grin. “And here I thought I’d already gotten all my Christmas presents.” He turned to look at Steve and squeezed an arm tight around his waist. “What do you say, _kotik?_ You wanna?”

Steve grinned, heart racing, and nodded. As soon as Nat’s hand dropped, he said, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”


End file.
